Career Path
by CaedusKunn
Summary: Coming from broken and abusive homes, Slade and Porsche have trained their whole lives to compete in the 44th Annual Hunger Games. However, a newly elected President Snow has given them a task to perform during the games. Balancing their pasts, alliances, friendship, and their task, Slade and Porsche try to beat the odds, and be the last one standing. I appreciate any all comment
1. Chapter 1

CAREER PATH

A HUNGER GAMES STORY

PART 1: Pre-game

The announcers voice flows over the crowd which erupts into cheers and applause. The stage turns bright, and a velvet chair turns to the audience occupied by an energetic man who smiles and greets them all as if each of them is his dearest friend.

"Good evening everyone!" he shouts. "Are you ready for the forty fourth annual Hunger Games to begin?"

The crowd erupts again and I straighten my black t-shirt. It doesn't need to be straighten, but I do it to hid the butterflies in my stomach. Tonight we have the one on one interviews with Cesar, and it's the part of the games I've been looking forward to the least. Porsche, my fellow tribute from District 1, checks her long synthetic eye lashes one last time while her stylist team makes frantic last minute adjustments to her hair and makeup.

She's going to nail this.

Our head stylist, a flamboyant man by the name of Celedien, talks in a hurried voice to her as Cesar finishes his opening monologue. Porsche nods her head slightly, while making last minute adjustments to her leather sleeveless vest and leggings which fit tightly around her lean and finely toned body

"Ok now show me the lips one last time," Celedien says holding his arms out towards her.

Porsche smiles slyly, then slowly runs her tongue over her shiny upper lip while tipping her head back slightly.

"Excellent!" Celedien says clapping his hands together and hopping slightly. "You're absolutely perfect."

"I know," she says with seductive confidence.

Cesar's voice radiates throughout the crowd and the staging area. The interviews go in the order of our districts, and the ladies always go first. So Porsche will be the first tribute everyone will see. She will have their full attention, and doesn't plan to waist a second of it. I'll be going second, which is perfect, because after Porsche they won't know what to expect.

"Now lets give a warm round of applause for our first tribute, Ms Porsche Rossini from district 1!" Cesar booms.

The crowd bursts into applause once more as Porsche leaves the staging area, and struts onto the stage. Watching from a viewing monitor back stage, Celedien and his stylist team come stand behind me as she makes her entrance.

"Ooooh work it girl," Celedien says.

Instead of walking to her chair with a joyful hop in her step, or waving to the crowd, Porsche does something unexpected. Walking slowly, one hand on her hip, the other hanging loosely at her side, she casually puts one fine, leather clad leg in front of the other. Instead of waving to the crowd, she looks into it with smoky eyes, a seductive look on her lips, and making firm eye contact with every man she can before reaching her seat.

The applause continues, but fades slightly. Reaching her chair, she stands in front of it for a moment, and slowly leans forward to sit down, her cleavage on full display. Once sitting, she tosses back her long black hair, and smiles at Cesar, who looks as though he's staring into a headlight.

"Perfect, just perfect," Celedien whispers.

"Indeed," says Elio, our District mentor, who has joined us as well.

"She already has them stirring," Celedien says. "Shouldn't be too hard for you to follow Slade."

"Right," I reply dryly.

"Yes yes," Celedien says putting his hands on my broad shoulders. "Just like that, nice and dry, with just a small hint of emotion."

"I know," I reply.

"Perfect!" Celedien says. "Now lets just straighten you out a bit…"

The stylist team begin looking me over. Starting with my hair, which is black and flops casually over my right eye, to my plain black t-shirt which accentuates my bulging biceps, wide chest, and broad shoulders. I'm wearing plain blue work pants which are common in my district, though they are tight around my waiste and butt, but loose around my calves and ankles. They cover special boots which lace up past my ankle and are heavy and clumsy. I won't be wearing these in the arena.

"Well Porsche," Cesar begins. I watch the screen carefully as the stylist team obsesses over the height of my belt and the thickness of my eyebrows. "You've trained for the Hunger Games your entire life have you not?" he asks.

Porsche smiles confidently.

"Yes Cesar," she replies.

"So how does it feel to finally be here, after preparing so hard and long?"

Porsche smiles and leans her head back slightly.

"It's been fantastic Cesar," she begins. "Everything from the reaping, to our arrival at the capital, the opening ceremonies, just as I imagined it."

A smile slowly spreads across my face. She's playing her role well.

"Has there been anything unexpected that you have enjoyed?" Cesar asks.

Porsche's smile turns into a sly one.

"Well yes Cesar," she says slowly in a low tone. "I must admit, I didn't expect the men from the other districts to be so….handsome."

Her eyes turn to a camera, where she winks slowly while swaying her shoulders slightly. The crowd, including Cesar, all ooh scandalously. Meanwhile, I swallow on the knot in my throat.

"Yes they do appear to all be very good looking," Cesar says. "Is there one you have a particular fondness for?"

I hold my breath and wait. Damn it no. I can't think like that. However, we've known each other our whole lives. Trained together, ran together, bled together, even…no. I take a deep breath, try to push this away, and remind myself she's playing a role.

"Here it comes," Celedien says gleefully.

"Well, to be honest, I've really enjoyed….." Porsche pauses and licks her upper lip slowly and seductively. "….getting to know all of them," she finishes.

The crowd has mixed reactions. Some murmur to themselves, others clap loudly, many whistle, and many more unleash cat calls. Taking it all in, Porsche raises both her eyebrows rapidly and winks once more.

"Perfect, perfect, perfect," Celedien says. "She's a natural. It's like she's not acting at all."

I swallow, and wish he was right.

The role she's playing is part of our strategy this year. Before the reaping, we were visited by Celedien and Elio. This was strange, because even though we are career tributes, which means we train until we're 18 and then volunteer to compete in the Hunger Games, we still follow the same rules as every other district. Usually, you don't meet with your stylist until you arrived at the Capital after the reaping. However, this year was different.

"The President and Game makers wanted us to give you both a special….task," Celedien said to us the morning he came to visit.

They had brought Porsche and I to our Districts Justice Building. They brought us in the middle of the night, and didn't even use peacekeepers. In fact, I noticed as we were rushed in that there were no peacekeepers on duty. It was highly unusual, but with good reason.

"Task?" I asked.

"Yes Slade," Elio said. "Celedien will explain everything, but first, I want to stress to both of you that secrecy is important here."

Porsche and I both nodded.

"Ok here's the deal," Celedien said. He began pacing back and forth in front of us, his hands very animated as he rambled on. "The President and Game makers have noticed the younger demographic of our audience is…waning."

"Waning?" Porsche asked. "That doesn't make sense. I thought they were forced to watch, like we are."

"Umm no," Celedien says uncomfortably. "We don't 'force' anyone to watch the games in the Capital, but we do everything we can to make sure they want watch. Big parties, your opening ceremonies, interviews, basically all the festivities we do on your behalf."

I cock and eyebrow and Porsche crosses her arms tightly.

"Despite all that," Celedien continued, oblivious to our reactions. "We've noticed the younger generations viewer ship has declined considerably. Looking further, we've come to the conclusion that many younger viewers just don't find the games interesting or compelling."

"Imagine that," I say. "They don't enjoy people there own age brutally killing each other."

"I know right?" Celedien says incredulously, again oblivious to the sarcasm in my voice. "President Snow finds this to be a serious problem…"

"Why?" Porsche asks sharply.

"Because uhhh…" Celedien stutters slightly before regaining his composure. "It's just… well we… so much is put into the games, and its such an important tradition to Panem, we naturally want everyone to be enthusiastic about each year."

Porsche and I exchange a pointed glance. I'm not buying it. and neither is she. The truth is, President Snow rose to power only two years ago. In two years, he's managed to look timid, indecisive, and over confident. He doesn't want the younger generation becoming bored with the games because he's afraid they'll begin to sympathize with the districts next. That would mean rebellion, and rebellion could lead to war, and nothing disrupts the career of a young President more than an inconvenient war.

"Anyways," Celedien continues. "We've come up with a way to make the younger audience re-engage themselves in the games. Role playing!"

"Role playing?" Porsche and I say at the same time.

"Yes," Celedien says smiling ear to ear. "Both of you will play a role, a character if you will, with a distinct personality, and compelling back story. Everything you do, from when you volunteer in the reaping, to the opening ceremonies, your interviews, and even your conduct in the Arena, will be consistent with your character."

I frown and sigh slowly. Porsche shakes her head.

"This is stupid," she says.

"I won't do anything that puts victory at risk in the arena," I said.

"Ah ah, hear me out first," Celedien says. "You might find this to be…fun!"

"And keep in mind, President Snow has asked you to do this," Elio says darkly. "It wouldn't be good to say no to the President would it."

We exchange another glance, and lean forward so our elbows rest on our knees. Celedien smiles and claps his hands twice. Bursting through the doors behind him, his stylist team rushes in carrying two tall mannequins covered by white sheets, a large drawing pad on stilts, and several small bags.

They place one mannequin in front of each of us, and Celedien stands next to the one in front of Porsche.

"Porsche," he says her name with a low down and clenches his fist in front of him. "You will be a symbol of strength and desire. Yet no one can just have you. No. Men don't pursue you, you pursue them, and you have as many as you damn well please." He laughs loudly tossing his head back. The stylist team follows suit. "You speak your mind, you take what you want, live by instinct, and fulfill your own urges. You've freed yourself from the binds of societal norms, and do as you well please. Many women will look up to you, many women will despise you. But who cares! Whether they admire or despise you, the point is, they can't help but watch you."

With a flick of his wrist, the stylist team lifted the white sheet of the mannequin to reveal the leather clad outfit she's wearing now. I raised both my eyebrows at how sleek, dangerous, and …well …sexy it is.

Porsche examined the costume. Circling around the mannequin, looking over its tight leather stitching, revealing doublet and generous bustier. Completing her circle, she nods and smiles. She liked the idea, and I'll admit, it made me interested in what he had in store for me.

"Slade," Celedien said turning to me. He pressed his finger tips together in front of his chest and formed a sly smile. "What we have in mind for you, is to be the one everyone hates, yet loves. Loves to hate, yet perhaps hate themselves because they love you. That sounds so avant-garde I just love it, yes?"

Both my eyebrows raise. I have no idea what he means. Loves to hate? What does that even mean?

"Sorry," I say.

"Slade, you will be the villain," Celedien replies, smiling ear to ear.

"Villain?" I ask. "No, if everyone hates me, how am I suppose to get sponsors?"

Celedien tosses his head back and laughs.

"Oh Slade," he says jovially. "Don't you worry about that. A villain you may be on the surface. Strong, tough, mean, vicious, cold hearted, you will be an intimidating force. You are incapable of compassion or mercy, crushing your enemies with no remorse, scoffing at the weakness of others, ignoring rules and gentleman agreements, paying no respect to those who are beneath you. Oh yes, for that they will hate you, and want to see you die."

I stare at him aghast. I'm not exactly thrilled about playing a role which is only going to put a larger target on my back.

"However," he says raising a finger. "You weren't born this way. No. It's not your fault your so disagreeable. See, you were driven to this. Your brother, Saber, died three years ago in the games correct?"

My eyes narrow as I scowl at him. Nodding slowly, my fists clenches.

"Yes, yes," Celedien says. "I see that look in your eye. Do you see it?"

"I see it Celedien," says one stylist in an airy dramatic voice.

"A tortured soul," says another throwing his hand over his forehead and tossing his head back.

"It makes me want to hold him close, yet I fear for my life," says the last stylist.

I stare at them with my mouth wide open.

"Yes it all comes together," Celedien continues. "You two were close. Trained together, he was your blood and you were his. Yet, he was killed, by the female tribute from District eight. Ever since then, you've vowed revenge, and couldn't wait to compete in the games. You see, this is why you are the villain, brotherly love and family honor. Some will still hate you, as outwardly you will be brash, angry, and bothersome. Yet others will love you, for inside they will see a pained soul who grieves for his murdered brother. Either way, like Porsche, they wont' be able to stop watching you."

With another flick of his wrist, the stylist team unveils my outfit. It's not as flashy as Porsches, but I'm not suppose to be a sex symbol. It's just a pair of blue work clothes, a plain black t-shirt, and a short jacket made of a leathery material. I examine it as Porsche did hers. I don't understand it, its so… plain.

"Not exactly decorative, and fairly boring to make," Celedien says. "However, it suits your overall image."

I stare at the outfit, and a smile crosses my face as well.

"So Porsche," Cesar says to begin his final question. "As you say, you've enjoyed getting to meet each of the male tributes."

Porsche smiles and nods her head slowly.

"Is there one you're likely to miss once the games are over?"

Porsche shakes her head and laughs innocently.

"Oh Cesar," she says. "I guess I'll miss them all a little bit, in my own special way." The crowd begins to murmur again. "However, they'll always be with me wherever I go." She pauses and places her hands on her knees. Then, she slowly, gently, seductively, runs her hands along her inner thighs towards her waist. "I have a very, vivid, memory," she finishes slowly.

"I ….uh…see," Cesar bumbles. The crown murmurs louder, with the desired mixed reactions. "Well we all wish you good luck, Ms. PORSCHE ROSSINI, DISTRICT ONE!" he bellows.

The crowd applauds loudly, with several men rising from their chairs, clapping and hollering as loud as they can. Celedien see's their reactions and begins running in place with tiny steps while he laughs gleefully.

"Excellent," he says. "Like I said, just a natural. It's like she's not acting at all."

"Yeah," I say to myself as she comes back stage.

They meet her at the curtain, and shower her with praises. She's smiling from ear to ear, her real smile, the one she wears when she's not focused on the games.

"Up next, we have our male tribute from District One," Cesar's voice echoes back stage.

Celedien, Elio, and the stylist team all rush back to me as my heart starts to beat hard. Celedien begins speaking so rapidly I can't understand him, and Elio crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, his signal that its time to focus. The stylist team makes a few frantic last minute adjustments, then push me to the curtain. Along the way I catch a glimpse of Porsche. She gives me a curt nod, her way of wishing me luck.

"Please welcome, Mr. Slade DeLaRosa!"

The crowd erupts and I take a step forward. A hand slaps on my shoulder and holds me firmly in place.

"Give it a moment," Celedien whispers, even his damn whispers are flamboyant. "Remember, you're not suppose to care about rules or traditions."

I nod slightly and wipe all emotion from my face. After a few seconds, and an awkward look from Cesar, I step out onto the stage. The crowd cheers and applauds, and I look around as if I'm surprised they're there. Narrowing my eyes, and frowning pointedly, I make my way to the Tributes' seat, and sit.

" Ahh Mr. Slade," Cesar begins. "Such a strong name. Simple, fierce, easy to say…" he pauses and looks into the crowd with a mischievous look. "…even easier to remember."

The crowd laughs and claps once more.

I listen to Cesar, but act as if I'm not. My eyes wander around the stage, appearing unimpressed and bored. Typically, every tribute takes this time to act proud, brave, and honored to be competing in The Hunger Games. Not me though. I'm suppose to act as indifferent, and not care how important it is to the tradition of the Hunger Games.

Inside I have to laugh a little. My dad is probably going crazy. We didn't tell our parents about our plans this year. The young President Snow thought the fewer people to know the better. Only our stylist, mentor, mayor, and capital escort are privileged enough to know our ploy.

"So tell me Slade," Cesar begins.

I turn to him and blink several times with my lips pierced tight, as if I'm upset he's going to ask me some questions. Seeing my expression, he pauses for a moment, and swallows. He's not expecting this either, but that's good, it'll help sell the performance.

"So...uh…you're a strong young man," he begins. "What's going to be your strategy heading forth?"

I tilt my head and squint my eyes. Then I lean backwards in my chair, roll my eyes, and shake my head furiously.

"Cesar," I say sharply. "What's my strategy? Do you really expect me to answer that?" He opens his mouth to respond, but I roll right over him. "There are twenty three other tributes just behind that curtain, and you want me to tell you my strategy, in front of all of Panem. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Well no Slade…" he tries to say.

"I'm not stupid, got it." I turn to the audience. "But if you all really want to know, I'll tell you this." Back to Cesar. "You want my strategy. Here's my strategy, kill everybody. Nuff said."

The crowd is deathly silent, and Cesar sits still with his mouth partly open and eyes wide. They're not used to seeing a tribute be hostile with Cesar. I glare at him until he stirs uncomfortably and looks back out to the audience. This should cause a lot people to hate me, if they didn't already.

"Well then," Cesar says awkwardly. "Let's talk about you a bit."

"Whatever," I say disinterested.

"Well, you're from District one, and you volunteered, which means you've trained for these games most of your life," he said. "Sounds like you're following in someone's footsteps. We all remember your brother Saber three years ago."

Saber. We counted on them bringing him up. It's another part of the strategy. The standoffishness and crudeness will get them to hate me. Make them think I'm scum. However, now's the time to plant a little seed in each of them. If the seed grows right, they'll feel conflicted, not sure what to think of me. Then, they might have some compassion for me, believe I've been driven to be this monster, maybe even like me a little.

Slowly, I turn my head to Cesar, and give him my full attention for the first time. The audience becomes still, picking up on my cue, giving me their full attention.

"I do too," I say darkly.

Cesar take a slow breath, and covers himself with a forlorn look. We counted on this too. Cesar's role is to make the tributes look as likable as possible. Once he saw I wasn't charismatic or friendly, he'd try another route, pity.

"He came so close," Cesar said. "So very close indeed, and died with a knife to his back yes?"

I nod slowly, never taking my eyes off Cesar.

Celedien had gone on and on about how taping into my brother would get the crowd to love me, even though they couldn't stand me. At first, I didn't want to talk about it. It wasn't anybody's business, and its not right to use the memory of him like that. Saber was good. Not just in the arena, but as my brother.

"Has your brothers death motivated you in some way Slade?" Cesar asks.

I stare at him coldly. My eyes narrowed, my jaw tight, my fists clenched. A few moments pass, and I perform my own little trick. Just as Porsche had her licking lips, I have my little gesture as well. Slowly, my eyes begin to widen, my jaw relaxes, and my fist calms. Slouching my shoulder and taking a deep breath, I look sorrowful.

"Yeah Cesar," I reply softly. "My brother meant the world to me."

It comes across natural and lovingly, and that's because it is. Cesar nods solemnly, turns to the crowd with a sympathetic look, then puts a hand on my thigh.

"Family is so important to all of us isn't it?" he says.

"Yeah," I reply.

This is the part I dreaded, but it would be for the best. Back in District one, Porsche and I were taking our daily fifteen mile jog after our meeting with Celedien. We discussed her role, and ways she might pull it off. We always gave each other suggestions, that's what friends did. However, I wasn't eager to talk about my role .

"So what are you going to do?" she asked as we jogged over a hill.

"I don't know," I reply. "It seems to complicated, first get them to hate me, then to like me?"

"What about Celedien idea? About Saber?"

"How could talking about Saber be any help?" I asked.

"That should be easy," she replied. "Just tell them the truth.

She was right. At first I didn't see that, but now that I'm in front of Cesar, and aware all of Panem is watching, I know she was right.

"How did you respond to his death?" Cesar asks.

I lower my head, close my eyes, and tell the truth.

"I grew up thinking he was invincible," I say softly. "Admired him, idolized him, and I always thought if I could be just part the man he was, I'd do pretty good in my life."

"Mmm yes," Cesar says nodding his head sadly. "Your brother sure made an impression on all of us. He was a very talented young man, I think we all felt something when he was defeated."

"Yeah, I know I sure did," I say lifting my head. "My fathers belt!"

Cesar's eyes grow wide and gasp is uttered from the crowd.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Cesar says with a shocked look.

"Yeah," I say shaking my head. "Get this, Saber and I were both pushed into the Career program by our dad at the age of five. He'll never admit it, but the pathetic SOB had hopes one of us would win and he could spend the rest of his life living on victors row with all the money and food he could ever want."

"Oh," Cesar said. "That doesn't seem…."

"It gets better," I interrupt. "You see, he entered the career program himself as a kid, but didn't make the cut after fourteen. So we were bred to fulfill his dreams for him. That's right, I said bred.

"As soon as we could walk, he began training us. Simple stuff at first like running and jumping, but by the age of five we could both run faster, leap higher, swim longer, and lift more than anyone our age. We both made the cut easily when we each turned five."

"Well at least you had each other," Cesar says quickly, smiling to the crowd.

They remain silent, hanging on every word I say.

"Yeah you're right," I reply. "Without him, I'm not sure I would have made it far. What he learned, he taught me as so I could have an advantage at each cut. Plus, it helped me avoid the beatings from dad."

"Beatings!" Cesar says. I guess he hoped we'd moved on from that.

"Yes, beatings," I say slowly and angrily. "It happens, you probably know someone who either beats their kids, or was beaten themselves. Pull your head out of the sand and you might notice. But I digress." "Uh huh," Cesar says with a blank stare.

"Anyways," I continue. "Each day we were pushed to our physical peak at the career center, and then even more when we got home. Everything we did was designed around making us the best possible tributes we could be. We were always on a strict diet and sleep schedule. Our playtime consisted of sparring with each other. Even our school lessons were based on in game training, like when we learned to read with written play by play's of past games.

"Dad pushed us to our limits, but not gently. If our progression goals weren't met, we were met with the belt. If someone beat us in a foot race, we would do laps until we collapsed and puked. If we lost a sparing match, he spared us with his fist."

I pause and let this part sink in. Meanwhile, I can feel my fathers anger reaching all the way from District one. I can also feel his belt across my back.

"But…" Cesar begins. He has to shake his head first before he can continue. Searching for words, he starts several times, but stops himself. Finally, he lets it loose.

"Why would he do that to his sons?" he asks.

I sit still for a moment, and simply shrug.

"He would say a lot of different things, all meant to be reasons," I said. "Like, loosing today means you get the belt! But loosing out there means you die. This is for your own good!"

"My goodness," Cesar gasps.

"Hey, Fear is a powerful motivator," I say shrugging again.

"Yes I'm sure it is," Cesar says. "But, but, back to your brother. What was he like to you?"

I raise an eyebrow. Then I take short breath, relax my shoulders, and reply.

"He was a good older brother, and took his time to watch out for me," I said. "Saber was encouraging, kind, and helpful when I really needed it."

It feels good to be talking about Saber, and I'm glad people remember him as a good person. Saber tried his hardest, hoping he'd win not just to appease our dad, but so I wouldn't have to compete my self. For a while, I lived in ignorant bliss of what the Hunger Games really is. It's easy to in District one, since everyone else is.

I've watched reapings of other districts. They're terrified. To them, getting your name drawn is a death sentence. It's not like that in District one. Kids don't live in fear their name will be drawn, because there's always someone to volunteer for them. So it wasn't until my brother was killed I realized I could actually die in the arena. Die!

"So tell me," Cesar continues, his composure regained, and the comforting tone returned. "What did you feel when you saw him die?"

Now's the time where I add another sprinkle of confusion to them.

"Angry," I begin.

"Angry?" Cesar asked.

"Yeah," I reply. "You've said yourself how he made an impression on you, how you knew he was good person. So tell me, why does the good people always have to die?"

The audience is silent, but I can feel their sorrow. I've struck a cord, appealed to sense of empathy by making them wonder what it would be like to loose a close family member, especially someone they loved dearly. However, I told them I felt angry when he died, time to say why. Sitting forward, my teeth and fist clench, I look at Cesar and glare.

"That's why I'm here," I say angrily.

Cesar's eye's become wide.

"To win right? In his honor?" he asks.

I laugh slightly and shake my head.

"No," I reply. "I look forward to winning yes, but first, I'm gonna make sure my brother's death is avenged."

"Avenged?" Cesar says carefully, unable to hide his discomfort. "But the tribute who killed your brother…."

"Won!" I snap.

"Yes yes, she won," Cesar says quickly. "But, she's not going to be in the arena."

He's flustered. Good. If he's flustered, so is the audience. All that tugging at their heartstrings momentarily forgotten. The brotherly love, the abusive dad, the lifetime of training, out of sight out of mind. Now, they only see the driven monster. They'll remember the rest later.

"No, she's not," I say sitting back and glaring. "But there's a female tribute from eight, right?"

"Uh, yes," Cesar says.

"Exactly," I reply pointing my finger at his chest. "And I'm going to kill her. I'm going to hunt her down, drag her to the cornucopia, and kill her there for all to see. And who knows which way she'll die, I know over 200 ways to kill someone, even more ways to inflict pain. Guess we'll see which one I'm in the mood for, but I'll promise you this, it won't be a quick knife to the back. No, no, I won't make it that quick."

The audience begins to murmur after a few gasps radiate throughout. My cold stare never leaves Cesar as he swallows uncomfortably and quickly shifts his gaze between me and the crowd. Little by little the murmuring and whispering begins to grow louder. With one final look at the clock Cesar seizes my hand and yanks me to my feet.

"Ladies and Gentleman, Slade DeLaRosa, District One!" he shouts.

The audience begins to clap politely, as their suppose to do. I glare out at them, slowly moving my eyes left to right, as if I'm daring anyone to judge me. Cesar holds my hand high for a moment, but then releases it as quickly as possible and showing me the way off stage.

Turning, I give one last blank stare to the crowd. The look is suppose have a different effect on everyone. Some will see nothing but a psychotic killer, others will see a tortured soul who can't help the inner demons who posses his soul. I only hope I've done enough.

A moment later I get my answer. As I'm just about to exit, I hear the faintest cheer. It's followed by the faintest boo. Then the cheers multiply, as well as the boos. Soon the applause is drowned out by the competing chorus' of cheers and boos which continue long after I've disappeared behind the stage.

"Excellent!" Celedien shouts as I greet them behind the curtain. "Listen to that!"

He holds his hands high above his head, his eyes closed, listening to the cheers and boos. Elio is next to him, nodding his head and smiling.

"Perfect, both of you, just perfect!" Celedien says again.

I sit down and take a drink, legs and hands shaking. Celedien and Elio congratulate me a few more times before turning back the viewing screen to watch the rest of the interviews. I tune them out, and replay my interview in my mind, and thankful its over.

I get lost in the thoughts of my father, who is no doubt raging at the TV, perhaps even beating my mother. Our towns mayor, who is probably equally upset, and planning the unpleasant conversation he's sure to have with Elio. To Saber, lying in his grave, wondering how I became like this. If only I could tell them all the truth.

My head stops spinning when I feel Porsche sit next to me. We sit silently for a few moments, she staring ahead at the viewing screen, me at the floor in between sips of water. We steal short glances at each other, a thousand words unsaid with each.

"You did good," she says after a few moments.

"It was your idea," I reply.

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry, I know that was hard."

I look up to her, and she looks at me with her big brown eyes, the same brown eyes I've stared into countless times before. While my brother was my protector, Porsche was my friend, or as close to one as I could have.

"Thanks," I mutter.

She takes my hand and gives it a tight squeeze before leaving. My eyes follow her, my hand still remembering her touch. Closing my eyes, I take another drink, and remind myself only one of us can win.

Fear is a powerful motivator.


	2. Chapter 2

CAREER PATH

A HUNGER GAMES STORY

PART TWO

A door closes behind me, and I stare at the glass tube. Behind, Celedien continues to ramble on as he has since we left the hovercraft.

"So its set up absolutely perfectly for you," he says. "You and Porsche are the topic of every conversation, commentary, and talk show in all of Panem. The game makers are pleased, and so is President Snow. "

"Mhmm," I mumble.

The glass tube will take me to the arena. Moments before, there was an announcement that all Tributes must prepare to enter. I begin stretching, especially my legs, as I'll have to run as fast as I can soon. I'm only half listening to Celedien, wishing he would just leave. I'm really sick of him, and I don't care anymore what people thought of mine and Porsche's performance. We got the job done, so I don't want to think about it anymore, I just want to focus on the Arena, and staying alive.

"So now all you have is the arena, and of course the girl from eight," Celedien says.

I'm bent over stretching a hamstring when my ear perks up. Lifting my head slowly, I glare at him.

"What do you mean the girl from eight?" I ask.

"Well, you have to make sure it happens at a good time. Late in the games, preferably you two will the final fight," Celedien says gleefully.

"Huh," I ask straitening up.

"Well if she dies right away, that will be rather anti-climatic," Celedien says with a flick of wrist and a laugh.

"Why should I care," I reply. "Look, I did what you all asked. But now its time for me to focus on the games. The girl from eight," I pause and shrug. "She'll go when she goes. I'm not too worried about it."

Celedien's face narrows, and he puts his hands on his hips.

"You're not worried about it?" he asks sarcastically.

I shake my head and begin to stretch my other hamstring. Celedien huff, causing the ruffles on his shirt to shake. A moment later I'm gasping as he takes a fistful of my hair and straightens me. Catching me off guard, and surprised by the strength of his grip.

"You're not worried huh," he repeats. My face begins to sting as he free hand slaps me violently. I slowly turn back to him, thinking of several ways I could kill him. "Well if you're not worried, get worried. Listen closely you little punk. There are a lot of people who have gone to a lot of trouble to pull this off, all at the orders of President Snow. And if this fails, a lot of people are going to be executed, including me, Elio, my stylist team, the Game makers, and who knows who else. I'm not about to die for your little ants, you got it! So you get your head on straight and make sure the girl doesn't die! You got that?"

He releases my hair and I glare at him angrily.

"Two minutes to launch," a voice says over a pair of speakers in the ready room.

Our eyes remain locked, my cheek stinging, and my head hurting where he pulled my hair. After a few moments, I swallow.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask softly.

Celedien smile returns, as if he flicked a light switch, and his bright personality returns.

"Just keep doing what you're doing," he says. "As for the girl, I don't know. Make sure she doesn't die. If you see someone about to kill her, kill them first. That will be easy to explain, you simply want her for yourself. If you have her early, take her captive."

"What reason would I have to take her captive?" I ask.

"I don't know, but you're a smart boy, figure it out," Celedien says impatiently. "But, don't kill her until the very end. Betray your alliance if you have too…"

"What! They'll kill me without a thought if they even think I'm going to do that!" I snap.

"So will President Snow if you fail!" Celedien snaps back. "Do what you have to do, and do it well. And be grateful you snaky little puke. You're lucky we've taken the time to give you such distinction."

"One minute, thirty seconds," the announcer says.

I glare at him again and clench my fists. He stands perfectly still, his smug expression filled with condescension bearing into me.

"You better get in there Slade," Celedien says. He smiles once more, and straightens the color on my track suit with a wink. "And keep that look, its perfect."

He spins around, reaches the door, and gives me one more smile. I hold my breath for a few moments, before releasing it suddenly and shaking my head.

"One minute, all Tributes please prepare" the announcer says.

Stepping into the tube, Celedien pushes a button by the door. The tube encloses and I'm sealed inside. Taking a deep breath, my heart begins to quicken as the announcers count down continues. After a few seconds, the tube begins to rise. Celedien and I exchange one final glare before he disappears from view.

The tube goes dark, and all I can hear is the announcers voice.

"45, 44, 43..."

I close my eyes, and take several deep breaths. My hearts calms slightly, but the butterflies in my stomach flap violently. I begin to go over the strategy Elio, Porsche, and I formulated before we left this morning. As usual, we will begin the games with a pre-made alliance with the career tributes from district two.

"42, 41, 40..."

That alliance should take us to the final six, five or four. At that point, the alliance breaks down and its us against them. However, we have a plan. We'll betray them earlier, when maybe there's six or seven left, and they won't expect it. Our reports on the male and female from district two say they are very well trained. District two also has a different criteria for who they select for their career programs. I don't know much, but I know they don't have a group of candidates they narrow down each year.

My father explained his belief to Saber and I once, and it made me shudder.

"Here's what they do," my father began.

We were eating dinner, and it had been a particularly rough day of training for me. I had lost every sparing match that day. When my father picked us up, and had his daily talk with the trainers to check on our progress, they told him what they thought my problem was. We didn't even make it home before he tossed me into a dark alley and beat me severely.

"They have that killer instinct," my father continued. "They don't have weak pups too afraid to strike a killing blow. And you know how they find them?"

I was quivering from head to toe, afraid to look at him.

"They only have one cut," he continued. "When their seven, and they've all trained for two years. Then they put in small room, turn out the lights, and lock the doors. They don't unlock them doors until only one person is left breathing."

"35, 34, 33..."

So they're well trained, and ruthless. Elio's strategy is a good one. There's only one risk, they could be planning the same thing.

"…27, 26, 25..."

The tube emerges into sunlight, and I squint my eyes. After a moment I slowly open them, and behold our arena. We're in an open field, with the cornucopia about 30 yards away from me, and the tributes creating a ring around it. As usual, there is a variety of items spread throughout the ring. The closer the item to the cornucopia, the more valuable it is.

I quickly asses the other tributes, taking note who is positioned where, and what they can do. To my left is the male tribute from district twelve, and to my right the female from ten. Nothing to worry about from either. Both are scrubs from disadvantaged districts, and neither scored higher that 5 from the game masters.

:…20, 19, 18.…"

A quarter of the way to my right is Porsche. Our eyes meet. I give her a nod, and she motions with her head towards the front of the cornucopia. Supply packs and shelter items fill the space between the tributes and the cornucopia, but the weapons are gathered in the middle. Laying next to each other is a long spear, Porsche's weapon of choice, and a pair of short swords, my weapon of choice.

Remember my role, I glare at her and the weapons, while she winks at the boy next to her.

"…15, 14, 13.…"

Next we find our allies. Directly across from me is a blond haired boy of seventeen named Krillan, the male tribute from District two. He nods his head several times while smiling confidently. He's standing on his toes, right leg in front of the other, fingers twitching at his sides. He can't wait.

Across from Porsche is a amber haired girl of seventeen named Selena. With an expression of stone in her round face, she nods once to Porsche, and once to me. These our are allies. Killing them won't be easy.

"…8, 7, 6,…"

I do one more quick scan of the tributes before setting my feet and locking my eyes on the short swords. However, just as I'm about to finish my review, I sense a pair of eyes tearing into me. To my right, a few tributes past Porsche, a young woman with fiery red hair glares at me intensely with bright green eyes.

The girl from eight.

Our eyes lock, and my eyes narrow. I stare directly at her, she at me. Neither waivers. Neither blinks. This is the girl I'm suppose to hate with a passion, who I swore not only to kill, but kill violently. Apparently she was listening, and took me seriously. I'll have to make sure its convincing.

"…4, 3, 2..."

Here it comes. The games are about to begin. All I've worked for will be put to the test. I begin to focus. Clearing all my thoughts, memories, feelings….except for one. I allow one memory. It's one I've thought of only a few times, saving it for this moment.

"This is what you were born for!" dad shouted.

It's three years ago, and Saber is about to leave for the capital. We're in District one's Justice Building just after the reaping, saying our goodbyes. It's not much of a goodbye though, as Dad decided it would be a good time to have one more pep talk with his first born son.

"We're put everything we could in you!" he shouted some more. "Remember all the time everyone has spent with you, preparing you for this. Don't waist their time! Don't let us down! Don't let your mother down! Don't let me down!"

"I won't Dad," Saber said obediently.

He was always the dutiful one.

My father put his bony fingers on my brothers broad shoulders, and took a deep breath.

"I know you won't Saber," he said. "You've worked hard for this. But just in case you get down out there, remember one thing. THIS IS YOUR LIFE!"

That was all Dad had to say. He left a moment later, without even giving him a hug. I stayed back for an extra moment. When we were alone, Saber hugged me tightly.

"Just stay out of his way," he told me. "Watch the games in the square, come home late at night, stay late at the center. He can't take out his anger in me on you if you're not around."

"Ok," I replied, tears starting to well in my eyes.

He released me and put his hands on my shoulders.

"Hey," he said smiling. "Don't worry about it. I'm gonna win this thing, and then you won't have to compete. No more training, no more long days at the center, no more hungry nights, and no more beatings."

A tear runs down my cheek, and I sniff quickly.

"You promise?" I asked.

He smiled again and lightly slapped my shoulder.

"Yeah," he said. "I promise."

Two weeks later he was dead. Stabbed in the back by the girl from eight, who eventually won the games.

The memory runs it course, my legs ready themselves, my eyes focus, my mind clears. I'm ready.

"…1! May the odds be ever in your favor."

I take off. My legs start pumping, my arms keeping pace, heart racing, eyes still, ears focused. The short swords. I want them, and no one will keep them from me.

The male from twelve grabs the nearest thing he can find, and runs away. The girl from ten does the same. I'm not worried about it, we'll find them later and kill them in time.

All around me I hear the sound of people panting, running, shouting, fighting. I spare a moment to find Porsche. She's far ahead of any other tribute, her eyes focused on the spear. Across from me, Krillan is fighting the male from eleven over a pack. He makes quick work of him, landing a punch to his larynx. The male from eleven grabs his throat, struggling to breath. Krillan quickly grabs his head and twists. A sickening snapping erupts he falls lifelessly to the ground.

The first kill.

A moment later a cannon fires, and Krillan howls loudly before finishing his dash to the cornucopia, leaving the pack at the dead boy's feet.

Taking a quick note of his savageness, I look for Selena. She's slowed her pace and picked up a sleeve of throwing stars. Standing her ground, she quickly throws three at the tribute to her right. With a shriek the female from six flails frantically as a throwing star strikes her leg, stomach, and neck. Selena dashes towards her, holding a throwing star between her fingers, lands on the girls chest, and jabs it into her throat. Blood spurts from the wound and her mouth, before she goes limp.

Another cannon fires.

Refocusing, I see Porsche has reached her spear and fights off the male from four. She stands in front of the trident resting next to the spear she grabbed. The four's love tridents, and Porsche will never let him near it. With the butt of the spear she uppercuts him in the jaw, then sweeps his legs. Gasping as he lands on his back, he tries to yell as Porsche drives her spear into his chest.

A third cannon fires.

I reach out, my fingers twitching for my short swords, recalling everyone's last position, picking my first victim. My thoughts are interrupted by a hard round house kick to my face.

"Gasp!" I yell as I fall to my back.

My reflexes kick in and I quickly roll to my left, as the male from six drives his knee into the ground where my chest would have been. Leaping to my feet, I dash towards him, my own knee in front of him, aiming for his kidney's. He dodges my knee by back flipping away. As I land, I roll defensively and come to my feet, knee's bent, arms held defensively in front of me. The male from tribute, does the same, and we begin to circle each other.

I've been told the six's are descendants from a land far east. Apparently they still teach a secret art of hand to hand combat passed down for thousands of years. If any of that is true, this kid proves it. He's quick, smart, and well trained.

However, I'm not easy to handle.

I watch him closely, and he watches me. His legs are skinny, and twitch often, which means he likes to kick.

Krillan and Selena have reached the cornucopia and taken their weapons of choice. Two more cannon's fire, and Krillan howls once more. That's going to get old, real fast. I see another tribute out of the corner of my eye dash towards us, apparently wanting to take advantage of the situation. However, a spear lands in his chest a moment later, and Porsche takes a moment to blow the dead tribute a kiss.

Taking a que from her, I narrow my eyes and assume my role, daring him to attack. He feints a few attacks, but I don't flinch. Finally, I make the first move. Lowering my head, I run at him as fast as I can, my arms reaching for his waist. He jukes to his left, and brings his leg around for a kick.

"Slade!" Porsche shouts.

Turning to her with my hands held out, she tosses the scabbard containing the swords. Before he land his round house kick I've grabbed the swords, unsheathed one, and hold it steady. His legs connects with my blade and tears through his flesh.

Screaming at the top of his lungs, he collapses and grasps the bloody stump which is his leg. My eyes scan the rest of the field. The four of us have captured the cornucopia, five are dead, one wounded, the rest have fled. Krillan and Selena are circling the battlefield, and double checking the lifeless bodies. Porsche is cleaning the blood of her spear with a torn shirt from a dead tribute.

As I rise, the only sound to be heard now is the moaning and mutterings of the male from six. He'll bleed out in a few minutes, despite his attempts to tourniquet himself. He should count his blessings, it's a painless way to die. However, a nod from Porsche reminds me I have a role to play. Flipping the sword in my hand, I approach the struggling tribute, and stand over him forebodingly.

"Yeah buddy, do it!" Krillan shouts as they circle towards us.

"Get it over with," says Selena. "We have work to do."

Porsche walks up next to me, and smiles at him. The six stops his struggling, and glares at us. I narrow my eyes and raise the blade over his chest.

"Don't hesitate," she whispers through her smile. "They're all watching."

My eyes stay still, and his widen. I raise the blade and thrust it towards his chest. His mouth widens and he shouts.

"FOR LYRA!"

I drive the blade into his throat. A few gurgles and gasps, and he lays still. A moment later another cannon erupts.

"Nice," Krillan says with a wicked smile.

Now there are six dead, all at our hands.

"Not bad at all," Porsche says merrily. "But Selena's right, we have work to do."

"Yeah yeah, lets go," Krillan says.

They all turn and begin picking up the various packs and weapons scattered about. I clean the blood from my blade, attach the scabbard to my back, and examine them. Good steal, sharp, well balanced, but made from a capital factory. The blades in District one are hand crafted, with slight variables in each . I like the variables, because you can always find one that just feels perfect in your hand. They'll do, but then again, my mind isn't focused solely on the blades.

"What do you think he meant?" I ask.

They pause and turn to me.

"What are you talking about?" Selena asks.

"For Lyra," I respond. "Who is that?"

Krillan and Selena look bewildered. I look to Porsche, whose confused expression reflects my own.

"You know, Lyra," Krillan says.

I shake my head.

"I don't know who that is?" I say.

"You sure?" Selena asks in an annoyed tone.

I nod again.

"Oh I get it," Krillan says smiling. "Doesn't really matter what her name is, you just want to see her dead."

I raise and eyebrow, and Porsche blinks several times.

"I'll tell you what man," Krillan says. "We all make a deal right now. When we get to her, she's all yours."

"Umm, why?" I ask.

"Seriously!" Selena shouts. She sighs in annoyance. "Lyra is the girl from eight, the one you _swore _to kill."

I feel a wave of stupidity flood over me. Thankfully, I can be sure the capital is editing out this conversation at the order of the game makers. However, I'm sure I'm not exactly filling them with a lot of confidence.

"Oh right," I reply darkly. "Her."

"Yeah man," Krillan says. "Like I said, we save her for you. You want to kill her for your brother, I respect that."

"Appreciate it," I reply solomly.

"Hold on though," Porsche breaks in. "Why this guy from six care about Lyra?"

Krillan tilts his head and cocks his eyebrow. Selena's eyes widen with frustration.

"Seriously," she shouts. "Don't you pay attention in District one? Didn't you see her interview? Immediately I pause and realize something. No, we didn't see any other interviews after ours. We were whisked away to our districts floor and enjoyed a nice meal. I think of it further, and I'm surprised. Our training is very thorough in the career center. We study every aspect about the other districts, looking for trends and distinctions. We prepare for every possible tactic and strategy. Once we get to the capital, our study continues as we asses our fellow tributes. Watching them during training, taking notes of strengths and weaknesses, and memorizing their scores from the game makers.

So why weren't we shown the interviews?

"No," Porsche sneers. "There's nothing we can gain tactfully from watching interviews."

"I know I watched yours, and I enjoyed it thoroughly," Krillan says with a wink.

Selene rolls her eyes again.

"Well had you watched, you would have seen that the girl from district eight responded very strongly to your interview," Selena says.

"She did?" I ask.

My discomfort increases as Selena tells of Lyra's interview. Cesar began the interview with his usual intention, to make the tributes look good. However, I guess Lyra would have none of it. She took over the interview, and wouldn't even allow Cesar to ask a question. Lyra gave a stirring tirade about the disparity between the career districts and the rest. The others districts worked too hard and tirelessly to provide the capital with the resources they needed. They couldn't afford to spare anyone, and everyone did their part for the better of Panem. The careers obviously didn't, and yet they were rewarded for it. On and on she went and Cesar couldn't stop her. The biggest bang came at the end of her interview. That was when she called for all the other tributes to join with her to take us out. Individually they were weak, but together they were stronger.

"That explains why most of them fled," Porsche said when Selena was finished.

I agree, there's usually more dead at the end of the opening rush.

"It doesn't matter," Krillan said sharply. "They can work together all they want. They'll still die just like the ones here, and I'll love every minute of it."

I nod in agreement, but my head is spinning. This is strange, and it can't be just because Porsche and I are playing roles. I can tell by Porsche's narrowed eyes she feels the same.

The first few nights were uneventful. We set out each night, weapons in hand, stalking through the woods, looking for prey. The opening is usually the bloodiest event of the game. After that, its a game of cat and mouse. My fellow careers and I form a pack, and we try to systematically hunt each remaining tribute. However, after three nights, we haven't come across a single one.

Occasionally we'd find a trail; some footprints, broken brush, scraped bark. We'd follow it, but the trail would go cold as suddenly as it appeared. The first night we just shook it off. They all scrambled at the opening, and they probably kept running as far as they could. We would never venture too far from the cornucopia, the center of the arena. If the tributes became too scattered, the game makers would herd them back to the center, and then we'd find them.

But by the end of the second night, tensions are rising. Krillan is getting anxious and careless. Selena has become quieter and more withdrawn. Porsche irritable, often trading snipes with Krillan, which he doesn't take very well. I try too remain calm, but it gets a little stressful watching your back, and your front. Being quiet and brooding is part of my character, so that helps. However, things are still strange. I've watched the games every year as long as I can remember, and this has never happened. It makes me just as uneasy as it makes Krillan mad, Selena withdrawn, and Porsche irritable.

It only takes a tiny snap of a twig to set us off.

SNAP

"Shh!"

"What!"

"Damn it, do you have blocks for feet or something!" Porsche snaps.

I grab her shoulder and shoot her a warning glace. Krillan however, doesn't take it so well.

"Shut your stupid mouth slut!" he snaps.

"What did you call me?" Porsche says ripping away from my grasp.

"Easy!" I say firmly trying to step between them.

"I'll keep it easy, as soon as I put a muzzle on that bitch!"

"Say that again and I'll make you sing soprano!" Porsche counters through clenched teeth.

"Keep shouting like that and you two won't have the chance," says Selena with thick annoyance. "They'll hear your stupid bloated mouths and rush us."

Krillan glares at Selena who rolls her eyes back. I sigh and push Porsche back a step away from Krillan. I know what I want to say here, but I can't. I have to be careful. Keep in character.

"You two want to have it out, slut against brute, fine by me, it'll be a good fight," I start. "But not now. We need everyone alive and focused. Once we're done, tear it each other pieces for all I care." I nod to Krillan, showing him respect and asking him to respect me. He sighs, shakes his head, and walks away. Turning to Porsche, I open my mouth to tell her to settle down, but I stop myself. Her face is red, tilted, and her eyes stare at me underneath pierced eyebrows while her shoulders are hunched, and she's gripping her spear so hard, her knuckles are white. I've only seen this look once before, and I bite my lip. Her chin grabs my attention the most. It's wrinkled and quivering slightly. With a quick glance she pushes past me and follows Krillan and Selena.

We continue on silently for a while, Porsche keeping her eyes straight forward. Soon we come to a clearing. We come to the clearing every night in our perimeter hunting path around the cornucopia. Each time we come here, we know we've completed a lap. It's our third lap tonight. Krillan slams his axe into a tree stump, expressing more of his growing frustration.

"Damn it where are they!" he shouts.

"We didn't' even find a sign from them tonight," Selena says. "We need to think this through."

"Agreed," I say pushing past Porsche.

Porsche stands away from us, her hands still gripping her spear tightly.

Sheathing one of my swords, I circle the stump Krillan slammed his axe into.

"How many are left?" I ask.

"Three marks, nine scrubs," Selena replies.

Marks and scrubs are how we classify the tributes. Marks are the tributes higher skills and will be harder to kill. Usually scoring an eight or higher from the game makers, and coming from a district which has a physical industry such as lumber or agriculture. Scrubs are people without much skill, and not very dangerous. Most of them score a five or lower. If Porsche and I stick with Elio's advice, and betray Krillan and Selena early, it should be when we finish the marks who are our highest priority. I'm sure she's thinking the same, but we haven't had a chance to talk safely since the games started. I also remind myself its likely Krillan and Selena have a similar plan. These are the thoughts which make it hard for me to get a good nights sleep.

"twelve huh," I reply. "Three for each one of us."

Selena pauses on the opposite side of the trunk from me.

"No sign of any of them for three days," she says. "And the game makers haven't felt an urge to stir things up. That's beyond odd. There hasn't been a killing for three days, and they don't seem to be worried about it. Why?"

I think I know the answer, but I won't say it out loud. I look to Porsche, wondering if she has the same idea. But her face is blank, distant, and focused on Selena.

"It might have something to do with Lyra," I say carefully.

Porsche gives me a quick glance before looking away again. She does have the same idea.

"What! Why?" Krillan said. "She ran off like the rest of them. She has a big mouth, but lets face it, she's afraid to face you," he finishes with a laugh.

I shrug.

"Maybe," I say.

I start pacing around the stump again, letting my sword drag in the dirt.

"But what if they actually listened to her," I say.

Porsche shifts uncomfortably with a wary look. Relieved she'll at least look at me again, I nod my head slightly to reassure her.

"Hmm," Selena says. "I think I get where you're going."

"Care to fill the rest of us in?" Krillan asks with a simmering anger in his voice.

Apparently there's no love lost between those two.

"If you think you can follow, then shut up and listen," she says. "She knew coming in she would be targeted. Hell, she knew before she gave her interview. Perhaps her big talk was a desperate attempt to try and get some allies early to protect herself. It's really the only chance she has."

"How many?" Krillan asks.

"All of them," I reply casually. "It's why we can't find them. They're sticking together and moving as a group."

"There's too many of them to move as group," Porsche says. "They wouldn't be able to hide their tracks."

"Unless they're following our path," Selena says. "They could be watching us. Walking the same paths we are. We haven't bothered covering our tracks, and when we find them again, it already looks like warn ground, and we don't think anything of it."

Krillan snorts.

"If they've been following us, or watching us, or whatever, why haven't they attacked?" he asks. "What are you waiting for!" he shouts mockingly.

"Oh, yes good idea, invite them all to rush us at once," Selena says with obvious annoyance.

"Why not, we'll rip them to shreds," Krillan responds.

"We couldn't survive all of them at once," I growl.

"That's probably what their waiting for," Porsche says. "The stupid meathead to loose his cool."

I glare at her again.

"You don't want to see me actually loose my cool," Krillan says pointing his other axe at her. "Trust me."

"Don't start again," Selena says.

"Oh fine!" he says. "Let's just keep walking in circles and let them follow us then. Well screw that. If they're following us, I'm turning around and charging straight for them."

"WHAT!" we all shout at once.

Raising his axe above his head, Krillan runs into the woods the way we came in. Howling loudly and swinging at every branch in his way.

"Is he always this stupid!" Porsche shouts.

"Oh shut your slutty mouth and lets go," Selena says running after him.

I look to Porsche, who sneers at me and follows. Unsheathing my other sword, I follow quickly.

We run as fast as we can after the howling Krillan. I don't know whether he's just anxious to kill, or just plain stupid, but he could get himself killed. Perhaps that would be for the best. I can imagine my father shouting at the viewing screen. Yelling directions at me as if I could actually hear him.

Krillan continues running and shouting at the top of his lungs. Issuing threats and challenges to anyone who might be listening. I pick up my pace, hoping to reach him before he reaches whatever might be waiting for us.

The howling stops at one point, and we quicken our pace. My ears strain to hear any other sounds as I approach the place where Krillan became silent. We stop where we last heard him. Our breathing is deep, but quiet. Weapons drawn, we stand back to back, eyes scanning the dark forest.

"Where is he?" Selena whispers.

"He's your partner, you should know," Porsche answers.

"I don't keep him on a leash," Selena snaps.

"Maybe you should."

"Shut up, both of you," I hiss.

A moment or two pass and we keep scanning the trees, searching and listening for any sigh of Krillan, or whatever he may have found. The bushes begin to rustle and we each point our weapons at it. A shadowy figure jumps from them, shouting wildly. Porsche and Selena jump back, her throwing stars armed and Porsche crouching low with her spear. I bring back my swords, ready to strike, but pause as a wicked laugh fills the forest.

"You should see you three," Krillan says between breaths. "White as ghosts."

I lower my weapons and sigh. Selena rolls her eyes and sheaths her throwing stars. Meanwhile Porsche glares at him.

"Glad you find it funny," she snaps. "We thought you may have run into them."

"Oh come on," Krillan says exasperated. "There's no one out…."

"FOR LYRA!" several voice all shout at once.

My eyes widen as several dark figures rush from all directions in the forest. From bushes, in trees, sprouting from the ground. Screaming wildly and running from all different directions all at once. Krillan shouts and hurls his axe towards my head. I snap my head to the right as it sails past me. A moment later I hear a sickening thud. Turning, I see the axe between the eyes of a larger boy whose collapsed on the ground.

A cannon fires.

One is running towards Krillan, his back turned. I dash towards him, as the figure raises a club over his head, I thrust my blade into the figures chest. A voice gasps and gurgles, a girls voice, before the body collapses.

A another cannon fires.

"Ambush!" I shout.

"You think!" Selena shouts as she hurls a throwing star into the throat of someone hanging in the trees.

The body falls and with a wail and scampers off into the woods.

They keep running, taking turns rushing and attacking us, shouting wildly. It makes it impossible to pin point their locations, and thus fight offensivly. We try to gather together, defensively we could hold them off one at a time. But each time we try to move, they block our path.

An object hits me in the back, and as I turn to see who threw it, something sweeps my legs. I thrash my sword, but it hits nothing but air. Leaping to my feat, I'm hit in the face with a branch from above, then struck again in the stomach.

"Damn it!" Krillan shouts. "They won't hold still."

"Imagine that," Porsche snaps.

Each of us is being hit from multiple angles, making it hard to find and strike one. They're also fighting our weaknesses. I use swords, so they're striking me from afar. Selena uses throwing stars, so they attack her up close. Krillan is easily frustrated and just swinging his axes wildly as they poke and prod him with branches.

However, Porsche is hit from behind, but anticipates the next attack coming to her chest. Rather than turn, she holds her spear in front of her as a body slams into it. With a gasp, she tosses the body aside, and throws her spear into the tree above me. A body falls from the branches and crashes to the ground, her spear impaled in its chest.

Two cannons go off.

We've killed five, and I hear them start to run. Listening closely, I hear several pairs of feet crashing through the woods. There's three I think, plus the five we killed.

"Come on lets go!" Krillan shouts.

"Wait!" I shout. "They brought eight."

"Yeah so!" he shouts back.

"The others…." I begin. My eyes widen with realization. "The cornucopia, they're going for the supplies."

Without a word we dash through the woods towards the cornucopia. If eight attacked us, that means four or five could be going for our supplies. If we get there fast enough, we might be able to catch them. They'll be weighed down if they try to carry to much and will either have to drop it and run, or try and defend it.

As we run I can hear my father cursing me.

"Never leave your base undefended, there's always someone watching it, looking for an opportunity to take it," he would say. "You gotta find some scrub to defend it, that way if it is attacked, they're killed and not you."

There weren't any scrubs to find and align with us this year. Again, strange.

Bursting through the threshold, we come to the plain and see the cornucopia in the distant. Our fires are still burning, and we can see five shadows rummaging through the supplies.

"Oh they are gonna get it!" Krillan shouts as he lifts an axe.

They hear us and begin to scramble. A few drop whatever they're carrying and run to the woods. Two stay behind, trying to hold onto some items they're carrying. Krillan hurls his axe, which lands in a crate of food by one of the tributes. It takes him just a split second to grab the axe, and dash into the woods. Another tries to grab a bag, but Selena's throwing stars strike her in the legs and she collapses and screams.

A third figure helps the girl to her feet, taking the stars out of her legs and pushing her towards the forest. We reach the cornucopia and immediately begin searching to see if anyone else is there. I dash inside to check the weapons cache, and find one tribute hiding behind some crates. He's shaking uncontrollably, but with one look at our weapons rack I thrust my sword across his neck.

My jaw is clenched so tight it hurts. They were able to make a few trips, and most of our weapons are gone. They're not our preferred ones, but it doesn't matter, now they are better equipped to fight back. Again, this is different, and I'm getting angrier by the second.

Exiting the cornucopia I find the girls. Selena and Porsche have gathered that scattered remains of our supplies around the fire and are taking stock. Porsche looks to me.

"What they'd take?" she asks.

"Swords, knifes, bows, most of it," I reply.

"They took a lot of our food as well," Selena says. "Smart too, they took the stuff you don't have to cook over a fire."

Yes, they are smart. Too smart. My grip becomes so tight around my swords my wrist starts to hurt.

"Well this is just great," Porsche says standing up. She looks to me, worry spreading across her face. She has the same fears I do. "They're all together, and they took almost everything of value."

"That's ok," Krillan says in the distance.

Turning, we see him return to the fires, something large swung over his shoulder.

"We got something of there's," he says with glee.

He thrust the figure onto the ground in front of the fire, holding his axe at her. My eyes widen as I recognize the fiery red hair glimmering in the fire. Looking each of us over, she stops and glares at me. Her eyes are still, but her shoulders are tense. It means she's scared, but trying hard to not too appear so. She's either really brave, or really stupid.

"Lrya," I say through clenched teeth.


	3. Chapter 3

CAREER PATH

A HUNGER GAMES STORY

PART 3

CAPTIVE

**12 Years ago**

Bread, cheese, meat, water. The boy could taste them all. His young eyes watched longingly as his fellow first years devoured their lunch time meals. Slouching low to the table as a five year old does, he wrapped his arms around his stomach where no one could see, and endured the pains of hunger.

"No lunch again Coonboy?" asked a boy with blond hair across the table with a gleeful smile.

The boy swallowed and turned away, hiding the bruise around his left eye.

"Coonboy never has a lunch," says another boy with dark hair. The rest of the first years erupted. Pointing, laughing, sneering, all except the girl with dark hair sitting at the end of the table.

"His family spent all their money getting him in here," said a boy with red hair. "They can only afford to give his brother lunch."

The boy with the bruised eye and messy hair glanced over their shoulders at the third years table where his brother ate. The boy with the messy hair clenched his jaw as their laughter rolled through his ears. But soon, even that hurt, as the rest of his body was scraped, bruised, and aching after the first three weeks of training.

"Well, here have some of mine," said a boy with brown hair. Holding out a red apple, the boy with the messy hair stared with wide eyes. Shifting between the boy and the apple, he slowly reached out his hand, his mouth salivating as his fingers closed over the apple. Yet the boy with the brown hair jerked back his hand just as the boy with the messy hair's fingers closed. The table erupted once more.

"Guess you'll just have to win today," says the boy with blond hair. "Or you'll be a real coon tomorrow."

The boy with the messy hair recoiled against his chair and dropped his eyes. Fighting the moisture which blurred his vision, and the knot forming in his throat, he clenched his fists and imagined striking each of them over and over. However, the vision faded as reality set in. He would never beat them, he would always be too weak.

He kept his eyes down for the rest of lunch. His family was poor, and had spent most of their money on his application to the Hunger Games Career program. This made food scarce, so the boy's father began withholding meals if his sons performed poorly. If you had a good day, you got to eat dinner, and have a lunch the next day. If you didn't, all you got was a measly bowl of grain in the morning. Every morning the boy didn't receive a lunch, his father told him it was for his own good, that it should motivate him, and if he couldn't compete hungry, he wouldn't stand a chance anyway.

A bell rang and the trainees filed to the garbage bins. His brother passed by, and gave the boy with the messy hair a sympathetic glance. Each morning his brother tried to give him some of his lunch, but the boy always refused. If their father found out, he would beat them both. The boy with the messy hair remained seated, having nothing to throw away The girl with dark hair was the last to rise.

Waiting until the cafeteria was almost empty, the boy rose and made his way to the exit. The girl with the dark hair, which was braided in two pigtails watched him closely as she stood at the end of the line. After throwing away her garbage, she took a brisk pace towards the exit. The boy with the bruised eye walked slowly, his hunger making him slow and weak. He wasn't even aware the girl with the pig tails was approaching him from behind until her shoulder bumped against his as she passed. The boy with the messy hair lifted his head to apologize, but stopped as he realized their was something in his palm. Stopping, he opened his palm and saw half a sandwich resting there. Meanwhile, the girl with the pigtails walked out the exit without ever looking back. Alone, the boy with the bruised eye devoured the sandwich so quickly, he didn't even notice what variety of meat it had. If fell into his stomach and his body strengthen. His legs became sturdy, his stomach settled, and the dizzy feeling in his head melted away. With the clarity, came a sense of urgency, and he dashed out the cafeteria.

Not far ahead, the girl with the pigtails was walking across the yard towards the barracks.

"Wait," the boy said as he ran towards her.

The girl with the pigtails never looked back.

"Wait, please," the boy said again.

He came upon her and put a hand on her shoulder. She stopped, and slowly turned to him.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She shook her head.

"Don't tell anyone," she said.

The boy shook his head.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Porsche," she responded.

"I'm Slade," he said.

She smirked a hello.

"Just don't tell anyone," she said.

"I won't."

"Promise?" she asked.

"I promise," he replied.

"Why though?" Slade asked.

Porsche looked at him sadly. Staring into his eyes for a brief moment, she lifted her hand, and pointed to his bruised eye.

**Present Day**

"I saved her for you," Krillan says with a wicked smile. "Just like I said I would."

Porsche puts the point of her spear in front of Lyra's neck while Krillan stands over her clenching her hair tightly and holding his axe above her neck. Selena stands off a bit with three throwing stars between her fingers. I stare at her, my shoulder tensed and my fingers clenching my blades tightly. Lyra stares coldly at me, her gaze unwavering. Impressive, she appears to be very brave.

"Get it over with," Selena says. "Kill her and lets go after our supplies. The longer we wait the colder the trail will get."

"Let them have it," Krillan says. "They still don't stand a chance against us. Come on Slade, for your brother."

Lyra's nostrils flare at the mention of Saber. I keep my eyes on her, but my mind is spinning. I can't kill her now, it's too soon. Celedien's warning was very specific, I have to wait. I try to think of any reason to keep her alive, and how to convince the other's it's the best thing to do, all for the character.

"She could tell us where they're hiding," Porsche says.

I glance at her, and she at me. She gives me a look that tells me to trust her, and agree with whatever she's about to say.

"You lead that other alliance don't you," Porsche says slapping Lyra's face with the flat end of her spear point.

Lyra sits perfectly still, her lips tightly pressed together. I see where Porsche's going, brilliant.

"She leads them alright," Krillan says. "I caught her as she helped the other one get away, the one Selena caught with her stars. Probably didn't expected me to take her alive," he adds laughing.

"Well maybe you actually did something intelligent for once, even if its by accident," Porsche says. Krillan glares at her. "But anyway, there could be value in keeping her alive, for now.

"Hmm," Selena says. "That is a good idea." She kneels down and runs the sharp end of one of her stars against Lyra's face. Lyra closes her eyes as a line of blood appears on her cheek. "Think we can get her to talk?"

"No, no," Krillan says. "They're probably all scattered now. Just let Slade kill her and we can move on."

"They'll never scatter until you're all dead!" Lyra snaps.

We all act a little surprised by her sudden shout. It's the first time I've heard her voice, and it's steady and strong. Her eyes never left me though, and I quickly narrow my eyes.

"Oooh, she's feisty," Krillan says. "Slade, make her wish she never volunteered."

My eyebrow shoots up, and it takes a great effort to lower it again. I exchange another quick glance with Porsche, who raises an eyebrow of her own. Lyra volunteered? That almost never happens outside Districts one and two. The only time I've ever heard of it happening is if an older sibling volunteer's in place of a younger. But Lyra doesn't have any siblings, that much we were told from Selena. This feeds my uneasy feeling about these games, its just keeps getting stranger, not just because Lyra is a volunteer, but that Krillan and Selena knew, and we didn't.

"Do whatever you want to me," Lyra says shaking her head defiantly. "They have weapons now, and looks like you four already had a tough time fending them off in the woods."

"Umm we killed three of them," Krillan says.

"Even if you kill all of us, what happens then?" Lyra asks. "You're gonna have to kill each other. Whose gonna kill who first?"

"Shut up!" I shout.

Everyone stops and looks to me. Good, less she talks the better, especially if she's going to ramble on like that. Krillan keep turning his axes in his hands, looking for any reason to use them.

"Alright then," Krillan says. "Kill her, we're wasting time."

"She's more useful alive," Porsche counters.

"No way," Krillan says. "We keep her alive, she could slip a knife in our ribs. Can't do that dead."

"Can't tell us where her alliance is hiding dead either," Selena counters.

Krillan clenches his jaw tightly, yellow teeth showing, and glares at both girls, eyes shifting between them. Then he looks to me.

"Well I say its Slade's decision," he says. "She killed his brother."

"I didn't kill his broth…"

"Shut up!" Porsche snaps slapping her with the shaft of her spear.

As Lyra steadies herself, Porsche gives me another glance. She understands Lyra needs to stay alive, Celedien probably warned her as well. But we have to make this convincing, at least I have to make this convincing.

Keeping my eyes trained on Lyra, I take a slow step forward, and lift her chin with the flat side of my sword. The point presses into her throat with her fiery red hair falling around it. My face is still, my eyelids relaxed but my lips pressed together.

"Killing her now would be to good for her," I say darkly.

With a quick flip of my wrist I slap her with the flat end of my other sword across the cheek. Lyra gasps and falls on her side. I jump in front of her and slam a knee in to her chest, pinning her to the ground. She struggles for a moment, but then stops and resumes her glare at me.

"You stabbed my brother in the back," I growl.

"You stupid brute, I had nothi…"

I hit her with the hilt of my sword in the jaw. She gasps and tiny drops of blood spray from her lips.

"Since you stabbed him in the back, you're gonna do the same to your friends," I continue. "You will tell us where they're hiding, and what they're planning."

"I won't tell you anything!" she shouts.

I rise and slap her with the flat end of my sword again, followed by a kick her to her gut. She coughs and blood sprays everywhere, but quickly clenches her teeth. She's brave. Very brave. If I was watching the games, I'd be rooting for her. Coming in she didn't stand a chance against us. Yet she's rallied the other tributes, gotten them to work together, and made a few bold moves that have given them some advantages. On top of all that, she was captured trying to help another tribute escape. Those kinds of actions earn you a lot of fans. It's probably why my stomach is twisted in knots.

"Oh you will," I say narrowing my eyes. "Maybe not now, but after a few days without food or water I think you will. We'll wait as long as it takes, we don't have to hurry as long as we have you. Then, when you tell us where we can find them. We'll hunt them, capture them, bring them here, and have you watch as we kill them. You'll watch, and you'll know it was because of you. You're weakness. Then it'll be you and me, and I'll kill you with the same regard my brother was given."

Lyra rises to her knees. Her eyes are on fire with hatred, and her fists are clenched so tight they're quivering. I'm not sure if it would be easier if she were scared, but it doesn't matter. This gets me what I need. Gathering information will satisfy Selena, promising to make her watch as part of my revenge satisfies Krillan, keeping her alive until the end satisfies the Capital.

It's strange, I actually feel bad for her. She's just another pawn in the Capital's scheme, like Porsche and I. Yet she's still acting so brave. It's hard to remember I'm suppose to play the villain.

_Whack_

I slap her with the flat end of my sword again. She collapses, and I kick her in the gut. I kick her again, and again, allow her self to rise to all fours, and slam her to the ground with the hilt of my sword again. Krillan starts laughing and Selena mutters something about getting rope.

Lyra rises again, her arms shaking and blood flowing several gashes in her face. Yet once again, she stares at me, eyes to eyes. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to still herself, trying to hide her pain. I lower myself to a knee so we're on an even level.

"Of course, if you tell us now, it will save yourself a lot of pain," I say.

Silence.

"That all you have to say?" I ask a moment later.

She draws her lips in, licks them slightly, takes a sharp breath, and hurls a glob of water, blood, and spit at my face. My eyes snap shut as her spit lands in my right eye.

"Ahh!" I shout.

My arms shoots out and hits her across the temple with the hilt of my sword. She collapses to the ground motionless. Quickly wiping the spit from my eyes, I take a quick look to make sure she's still breathing. She's lucky, if she had spit in Krillan's face, she'd be dead.

"Tie her up," I say to Selena and Krillan.

"Damn," Krillan says as they drag her body to the cornucopia. "Make sure you give her an extra cut just for that."

This has been a long night, and there's a lot to think over. First chance I get I have to talk to Porsche.

Krillan and Selena finish tying up the unconscious Lyra and start going through the supplies again. Looking for Porsche I see her standing off by the fire. She's poking it absentmindedly with her spear. Taking a step towards her she quickly lifts her head and I pause.

Her expression is stone cold, almost empty. Blinking several times, I open my mouth to speak, but she quickly turns and walks away.

**Nine Years Ago**

"Jab, jab, hook, jab!" shouted an instructor at Slade as he spared with a boy with red hair.

The rest of the trainees looked on a the mock fight progressed. The instructor continued yelling instructions rapidly, and Slade followed them quickly, while his partner defended.

"Hook, Jab, Uppercut!" the instructor yelled. "BREAK."

Slade stopped, and they bowed to each other.

"Line up," the instructor shouted.

The eight year olds, in their third year of training, arranged themselves in two lines. The boys in one, the girls across from them in another. The third year of training introduced the boys and the girls to limited co-ed training. Twice a week they would spar together, one boy against one girl. Today was the first day they would spar against each other.

Each day ended with mock sparing, and victories and defeats were recorded. In the three years since beginning training, Slade lost a lot more than he had won. Each year, he barely made it past the cut, usually finishing just second to elimination. Meanwhile, his brother Saber had continued to excel, and was expected by many to win his classes nomination the following year.

After they had lined up, the instructor told them to turn and face the girls. Who ever was across from them would be their opponent for the day. The boys all turned to face their opponents, and Slade's head cocked in surprise as he saw his opponent.

Porsche.

She was taller now, and her pigtails hung to her shoulders. Unlike the other girls, she wore long sleeves and her shirt covered her stomach. Slade noticed she was leaner than the other girls, but also seemed tired, worn out, exhausted. Seeing him, she took a deep breath and slouched her shoulders. Slade swallowed as he remembered the sandwich she had given him three years before.

The instructor commanded them to take their places, and Slade and Porsche squared off against each other.

"You'll be facing both genders in the arena, best get used to fighting both, so fight each other as you would fight anyone else," the instructor said.

Slade swallowed.

"One, two, three, may the odds be ever in your favor!" he shouted.

The training room fills with the sounds of fists flying, legs kicking, guts being punched, and bodies tumbling over each other. Porsche and Slade begin circling around each other, eyes locked. Making the first move, Slade lunges at her with his knee. Porsche deflects it easily, and lands a jab in his ribs.

They continued exchanging jabs, punches, hooks, and kicks. One by one, the other pairings end their duels. Slade and Porsche continued there's, their focus completely on each other. At one point, Porsche lunged towards Slade with a hook aiming for his neck. Dropping to one knee, her fist sailed over his head, while his leg swept under hers. Falling to her back, Slade quickly trapped her arm by grasping her wrist.

Struggling to get free, Porsche wiggled her wrist furiously. As she did, her long sleeved shirt began to roll up her arm. Slade focused on keeping her wrist pinned, and trying wrestle her shoulder to the ground. However, he stopped and stared at her forearm. His eyes went wide and his strength lapsed for a moment as he saw Porsche's arm covered with scrapes, bruises, and even scars.

Feeling his strength wane, Porsche kicked her legs furiously and tossed Slade off her. Standing once more, she rolled down her sleeve, staring at Slade coldly, and they began circling each other once more.

Slade swallowed as he ran a hand through his messy hair, and absentmindedly over his often bruised face. Lunging at her, Slade threw a massive hook towards her throat. Porsche juked to her left, and swept her legs under his. Slade toppled over to his face, where Porsche was on him a moment later, pinning his shoulders to the mat.

"Out!" the instructor shouted.

Porsche stood up and Slade turned over to his back. Rising to his elbows, he look towards Porsche, expecting her to offer a hand. However, her face was still, eyes blank, and chest heaving softly. A moment later, she turned and walked away.

"You rushed in too early and kept yourself open," the instructor said as Slade rose to his feet. "You know better than that."

"I know," Slade said softly, his eyes following Porsche.

Later, when the rest of the tributes retired to the changing rooms, Slade left without changing. No sooner had he stepped outside the gym when two hands grabbed by the neck of his shirt and slammed him against the wall.

"Why would you do that?" Porsche hissed.

"Whoa, do what?" Slade said holding his hands up defensively.

"Don't play stupid with me," Porsche said, her eyes bearing into him. "I hate that, I hate that so much! You let me win. Why?"

They stared at each other for several long moments. Porsche's gaze never wavering, waiting for him to answer. Slade catching his breath, running through everything he might say. Finally, he sighed and pointed to her arms. Porsche stepped back, her face softening.

"Me too," he said moving his finger from her arms to his eye.

Porsche's eyes fell and she nodded.

"But why?" she asked.

Slade swallowed and shrugged.

"I haven't had any new bruises in a few days," he said.

Porsche began rubbing her right wrist, and stepped close to him again. With her head bowed, she nodded.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"No problem," Slade responded. "Just don't tell anyone."

"I won't," she said.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

**Present Day**

The air is still, and the only sounds are the crackle of the fire, and the snoring of Krillan. Lyra and Selena are asleep, and it's Porsche's turn for watch. It's been one hour already, and in another hour it will be Selena's turn. Creeping slowly through the camp, I make my way silently towards Porsche, whose circling the Cornucopia.

Staying close the shadows, and being quiet as a mouse, I kneel next to a crate and wait for her to come. A few moments later she's in sight, and I whisper softly.

"Porsche!"

She turns in my direction, sighs, and makes her way towards me.

"What?" she asks.

"We need to talk," I reply.

"We do?," she asks.

I pause and narrow my eyes. She narrows hers in response.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Nothing, just come on," she says.

I follow her to a small clearing with a boulder resting the grass. We sit behind it, back to back, one watching the camp, the other watching the forest. We sit silently for a few moments, the only sound we hear is the wind rustling through the leaves.

"How are you doing?" I ask.

I feel her shrug.

"Almost over I guess," she says.

"Yeah," I reply. "We just have to figure out what to do with Lyra."

"They warned me not to kill her until the very end," Porsche says.

"Celedien told me that too," I reply.

"All part of the roles," Porsche says angrily.

I nod and sigh.

"Is that what's bothering you?" I ask.

She shakes her head.

"Not exactly," she says.

"Then what?" I ask.

She doesn't answer at first, just bows her head and wraps her arms around herself.

"I guess I just hate what you've become," she says.

**Six Years Ago**

"Come on, fast as you can for a minute," Slade says.

"You're on!" Porsche shouts.

They begin sprinting down the dirt path leading through the woods in a capital approved jogging course outside District one. At twelve years of age, conditioning had taken a more prominent role in their training. Everyday, the tributes would take five mile jogs. Every year, a mile would be added until they were jogging ten miles daily. At twelve, the tributes were also paired with partners. Having evaluated and trained the tributes for almost seven years now, the instructors paired off each male and female tribute so to train together. From now on, they would compete as a pair, move on as a pair, and fail as a pair. Slade and Porsche had always seemed to find their paths crossed, and their paring came as no surprise to either, and secretly exciting to both.

Pushing each other to the limit, they ran as fast as they could. Often glancing at each other, smiling and taunting the other until they reached the end of their minute and slowed. Returning to a jog, and breathing heavily. The two laughed and argued.

"I beat you that time," Porsche said.

"No way, I could have kept going for another minute easily," Slade responded.

"Sure you could," Porsche replied smiling. "Just like you could always land those punches whenever you want too."

Slade smiled, and felt his stomach churn as she smiled at him. She only smiled during their jogs, and he looked forward to them everyday. Ahead was a little clearing off the path which contained a large boulder overlooking a river running in a shallow valley below. Each day, they paused to rest at the boulder, and took some time to themselves before returning to the training center for the evening sparing sessions.

They reached the boulder, and Slade rested his hands against a tree while stretching his legs and catching his breath. Porsche reached her hands high into the sky, arching her back, and standing on her toes while taking deep breaths.

Slade eyes became drawn to her as she faced the river away from him. Everyday Porsche was becoming less a young girl, and more a woman. Her voice becoming lighter, her hair now in a single braid, and her body maturing. Slade was experiencing his own changes as well, physical and emotional.

"So is Saber excited?" Porsche asked as her toes and arms lowered.

Slade turned his head quickly and continued stretching his legs, hoping she wouldn't notice how red his cheeks were.

"Uh, yeah, very much so," he said.

Saber had just completed the final cut, and would be representing District one in the Hunger Games in three years. From now until then, he and his partner would be receiving personal training as the only trainees from their original class.

"Everyone is very eager to watch him compete," Porsche continued. She leaned against the boulder and watched the river flowing beneath them. A moment later, Slade joined her, but kept plenty of space between them. "Some say he's the best we've ever had."

"I've heard that too," Slade said. "Its funny though, I told Saber that, and he just laughed and said it was charming personality."

Porsche laughed loudly, and Slade smiled.

"The man knows how to talk," she said. "Too bad Cesar Flinkman isn't a woman, he'd probably convince her to go on a date with him."

Slade smiled, and stared out at the river too. A few moments passed, and the sweat on their skin began to dry, as their pulse and lungs settled.

"Are you worried about him?" Porsche asked a moment later. Slade's eyes lowered, but he kept silent. Turning to him, Porsche watched him closely. "You don't have to be," she said. "Everyone is sure he'll win."

"Uh huh," Slade replies, his eyes staying forward.

Porsche tilted her head, and took a step towards him.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Slade shook his head.

"Nothing," he said. "Maybe we should go back."

He turned to leave, but Porsche grabbed him by the wrist.

"Slade," she said softly. "What's wrong?"

Taking a deep breath, and looking into her dark eyes, he sighed.

"It's stupid," he said.

"No it's not," she replied, and smiled a moment later. "Besides, this place here," she motioned her arms around the boulder and the river. "This is our place, a safe place, whatever we say here, stays here, between you and me."

Slade face remained still, and Porsche's smile faded. She nodded an apology.

"It's probably nothing," Slade said. "But, when he won, I just had a really bad feeling."

"What kind of feeling?" she asked.

Slade shrugged.

"Don't know," he replied. "But it was bad, and its kind of lingered ever since. Told you it was stupid."

"It's not stupid," Porsche said stepping closer to him.

He could smell her hair, and he took a slow breath, letting it fill his senses.

"Well I don't know, don't tell anyone about it ok?" I said.

"Course not," Porsche replied. "It was said here, in our place, so it stays here."

"Promise?" Slade asked.

"I promise."

**Present Day**

"What are you talking about?" I ask her.

Porsche stops, and stay silent.

"Never mind," she said. "It's stupid."

"No it's not," I reply. "Come on, what's going on?"

She sighs.

"It's just, you're not yourself out here," she says. "And it scares me."

I pause and take it in. Porsche has lived a life of fear. Fear of failure, fear of starvation, fear of her father. Yet, she's never admitted it before. I shrug softly.

"It's easy to be afraid out here," I say. "After all, everyone is trying to kill us."

"No," she said. "That's not it. I'm not afraid of whose going to stab me in the back, or the front," she said. Leaning her head against mine, she gazes into the stars. "I'm afraid of what I saw while you were beating Lyra."

I lean my head back against hers, and wait. She'll continue when she's ready.

"We've been alive eighteen years," she says. "Some of the boys and girls we've killed out here were twelve. Their lives had just begun, and now its gone. They're gone, forever."

I lower my head as her words sink in.

"What have I done with my life?" she continues. "All I know is the Hunger Games. I've never even thought about what would come next, should I win."

"You'd be a mentor to future tributes," I say.

"To continue the cycle of meaningless violence and murder," she replies. "No. That's not a good life. I've wasted my life."

"No you haven't," I say. My chest tightens as my cheeks become flush. "We haven't wasted our lives."

"Really?" Porsche challenges. "Have we learned anything? Discovered anything? Created anything?"

"We've…"

"No," she continues. "We've done nothing but fulfill the roles the Capital has demanded us too. And I'm not talking about our characters. I'm talking about what we do in our districts. District twelve are all coal miners, four fishermen, eleven farmers. We're born into it, and we never have the chance to discover what makes each of us unique. In their eyes, to play this game is a privilege, where we kill our fellow people from the Districts. People like us, who live our lives in hardship so they can live in comfort. It's just another role pre-written for us."

I wrap my arms around my knees, and hold them close to my chest. Its easy to forget there are thousands of camera's all around us, but Porsche doesn't seem to care. If we were anyone else, we might be killed on the spot. However, they need us now, and Porsche knows it.

"So what happens when we die?" Porsche asks rhetorically. "What kind of impact will we have?"

Silence.

"I'll tell you what," she continues. "Nothing. We'll become one of the nameless losers who died in the Arena. We'll be forgotten as soon as its over, and nobody will care to remember."

"They'll remember our characters," I say.

"Oh good," Porsche says. "Does that make you happy? Being remembered as the villain? Being remember for how you declared revenge against Lyra, beat her like a dog, then ultimately kill her when the shows over?"

"I didn't mean it like that…"

"Or how about me," she says. "I'm the national WHORE!"

I stop myself, all words escaping me.

"You play your role well," she says. "While you were beating her, I swear I saw our fathers. Kicking her in the gut, slapping her across the face. It came very naturally to you."

"Maybe you forgot I was beaten often too," I snap.

"Yes I remember! She snaps back. Then her head sinks and her voice lowers. "It's what made me so afraid."

I lean forward, my back leaving hers, take several deep breaths, and clench my fists. Standing up, I swallow and begin to walk away. A moment later I hear feet running behind me. Turning, I see Porsche, a terrible look on her face as she wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes me tightly. My arms wrap around her waist, returning her squeeze.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers.

"It's ok," I whisper back.

"No it's not…I can't believe I'd ever think…."

"Shh, yes it is, just let it go." She buries her face in my shoulder. I sway her slowly back and forth, my hand softly running up and down her back. "We're not ourselves. It's the stupid games. But they'll be over soon. We take care of the marks, then Selena and Krillan, Lyra last, then its just you and me in the final two."

She clutches my shoulder hard with her nails, burying her face deep into my chest.

"I can't do this," she says.

**Three Years Ago**

Thunder cracks overhead as the rain falls heavily through the trees. His clothing drenched, feet frozen, water dripping from his hair, Slade runs through the woods as fast as he can. It's late at night, what time exactly, he isn't sure, but he doesn't care. He's not sure how far he's run, or for how long, but he keeps running.

Lightening flashes overhead and illuminates the forest. Seeing a break from the path, Slade takes it and runs until he crashes into a boulder. Wrapping his arms around it, he holds himself still as the tears flow. A few moments later, he collapses next to the boulder, holding his knees to his chest, burying his face in his arms.

The thunder ceases, the lightening dies, and the rains pass. The night time sounds of crickets, firefly's, the songs of evening birds, and owls returned, and a stillness fell over the forest. Yet Slade remained where he was, curled by the boulder, the river rushing over the rocks down below. His pulse was normal, breathing calm, but his heart throbbed with pain. His mind was wild, replaying the events over and over, from start to finish. Over and over.

So lost was he in his pain, it wasn't until he heard his name called that he realized where he was.

"Slade!" someone shouted.

Lifting his head, the familiar voice cut through the visions, and his mind calmed.

"Slade!" the voice called again.

A moment later Porsche came into the clearing. She paused and stared at Slade, who remained seated, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. A painful expression was on her soft face while her eyes were wide with sorrow.

"Slade I'm…" she swallowed. "I'm so sorry."

His eyes closed as they grew moist again, and his head fell between his shoulders. A moment later she was beside him, on her knees, taking his hands in hers.

"He's dead," Slade managed to say. "Saber…he's just…he's dead."

Death was concept he had never thought of before. He had heard of elders passing in town, seen other tributes fall in the Hunger Games, but this was different, this was real. This was his brother, who would never speak, draw breath, smile, laugh, run, climb, or come home again. He was just, gone. His body an empty shell where life no longer existed.

It had never seemed real to him before.

"I know," Porsche said.

"My brother…"

Porsche took his head in her arms and held him close against her chest. He relaxed his body, and allowed himself to fall into her.

"They're all looking for you," she whispered.

"I don't want anyone to see me," he replied.

"I know," she said.

"What time is it," he asked.

"Late, well early in the morning," Porsche said.

"I don't know when I'll want to come back," Slade said. "You better get going, they'll be looking for you too."

"That's why I came here," she said. "And I'll be here as long as I need too."

"Same with me."

Just before the this seasons Hunger Games had begun, Porsche and Slade had made the final cut for their class. Nobody would have guessed nine years ago they would have won. Apart, they were feeble, weak, and lacking in talent. But together, the two had shown exceptional teamwork, cunning, and tenacity. Three years from now, they would be competing themselves.

Now that Saber was dead, Slade's father would be extra hard on him.

"It'll be ok," Porsche whispered. "We just have to make it through the next three years."

"Yeah," Slade said, lifting his head away from her chest. "How are we going to do that?" he asked shaking his head and starting to get up.

Porsche squeezed his hand and smiled.

"The same way we always do," she said. "Together."

He smiled as she brushed a strand of hair which fell over his eyes. Her hand lowered, but stopped at his cheek. His hand wrapped itself around her wrist, and they stared into each others eyes.

"Together," Slade whispered.

Porsche leaned in and pressed her lips to his. His eyes closed as his arms wrapped around her waist and hers around his neck. Her lips were tender, sweet, and the sensation was beyond his wildest dreams. Time lost its meaning, and for a moment, the throbbing in his heart stopped. A moment later, she slowly released, and stared into his eyes.

Slade nodded, and relaxed his arms. Porsche led them back to the trail, and they began their walk home. Slade licked his lips, still tasting hers. It was a moment he'd never forget, and wanted to remain special.

"You're not going to tell anyone…about what….well about…what happened?" he asked.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied.

He smiled.

"Promise?" he asked.

"I promise."

**Present Day **

We remain still, her last words echoing in my mind. I can't do this. Can't or won't? I don't know, but we can't let that get to us. So I just hold her, wondering how many more times I'll get to do this.

"Do you know what frightens me the most?" she whispered in my ear.

I shake my head.

"One way or the other, these are the last few days I'll get to spend with you," she says.

"Just don't think about that," I reply.

"I don't want too," she says. "But I can't help it, especially when you're not yourself. Because if we're not ourselves, then our lives truly mean nothing."

"That's not true," I reply. "You know me, the real me, better than anyone, and I know you. That alone makes it matter. And we both know we're nothing like these characters."

She leans back and looks into my eyes, tears streaming down her face.

"Promise?" she asks.

"I promise."


	4. Chapter 4

CAREER PATH

A Hunger Games Story

Part 4

I place my hand over her mouth and clamp it tightly. Lyra's eyes snap open and she starts to struggle. Kicking her legs and twisting her shoulders wildly against my other warm laid across her chest. But between the rope tying her hands and my weight against her, her struggle is in vain.

"Shhh."

Lyra's eyes come into focus, and she see's me. Her body relaxes, and she glares at me defiantly.

I don't have much time, they'll be back soon. This needs to be done, and I have to do it, alone. She's sleeping again, going on two days in our captivity without food. She'll still be able to resist if she wants, but I'm not going to ask the questions she's expecting. I'll have one shot at this, and I have to do it now.

There's dried blood all over her face and red hair. Bruises starting to form on her arms, and no doubt her stomach and legs where I kicked her over and over.

"I'm not gonna kill you," I say calmly. "We need to talk."

Her chest heaves while her eyes remain firmly locked on mine. I gently lift my elbow off her chest, and remove my hand from her mouth. Krillan, Selena, and Porsche are circling the woods again, looking for the remaining five. They could be back at anytime, so I plan to make good use of it.

"I'm not gonna tell you where they are," she says. "So save your breath and…!"

"That's not what I want to talk to you about," I say quickly.

"Ok, well I'm sorry about your brother, but come on I had nothing to do with…"

"I know," I say quickly again. "It's not about him either."

These games have been unusual. Not just because Porsche and I are playing characters, and have specific instructions on who to kill and not to kill. There's something else. I don't know what it is, but I have my suspicions, and I think Lyra, the girl from District 8, has something to do with it. I know she'll never openly admit it, but there are other ways.

I sit down and cross my legs. Placing my swords on the ground at my sides, I relax my head on my palms.

"Why did you volunteer?" I ask.

Lyra cocks and eyebrow and tilts her head.

"Didn't you see my interview?" she asks.

I shake my head. After ours were given, Porsche and I were escorted to our suite and had a normal dinner. It didn't seem unusual at the time, until I heard about Lyra's.

"Well then," Lyra says defiantly. "Since you missed it, I volunteered because a thirteen year old was chosen from my district. Thirteen years old, and can barely lift a sack of flour. It was a death sentence for her, especially against you career's. Sweet innocent little girls don't match up well against psychotic killers. I volunteered because she was innocent, and deserves better than to be hacked to death by the likes of you."

I raise a hand to my face, and watch her closely. Her eyes remain locked on me, but she's blinking rapidly. Her face is very animated, especially her mouth.

"Volunteering doesn't happen to often in the other districts," I say. "Did you know this girl?"

"Yes," she says flatly. "She was someone I used to watch when she was little and her parents were working long hours in the fields."

"You don't like our districts do you?" I ask quickly.

"Of course not," she says narrowing her eyes. "It's not fair how the richer districts can afford to train their tributes. The poorer districts enter the games at a disadvantage. For a young girl from a poor district, its essentially a death sentence."

"You feel pretty strongly about this don't you."

"Strong enough, I've even gotten in trouble a few times for speaking too loudly near a peace keeper." Her eyes drop. "Got my Dad beaten once for it."

"Did you learn your lesson?"

Her head snaps up and she glares at me again.

"I learned something alright," she says. "But anyway, that's why I volunteered. A chance to walk to walk as they say."

"And nobody….encouraged you before hand to volunteer?" I ask.

She stops herself, and jerks back slightly. Licking her lips, her eyes blink rapidly, and she stutters at first before answering.

"What's it like," she begins, trying to change tracks. "Sitting through each reaping feeling safe, knowing you won't be chosen, and even if you are, someone is going to volunteer for you."

I shrug.

"I always knew eventually I'd be here," I say. "But I also knew I'd be prepared."

"Must be nice to have that kind of resources," Lyra says snidely. "Must be nice to be able to afford training centers, special teachers and instructors, and the whole luxury of being able to spend your entire life training for the Hunger Games."

I narrow my own eyes, and clench my jaw.

"It's not as nice as you'd think," I reply.

"No?" Lyra says raising her voice. "Ever year you career band together to hunt the rest of us. You have more winners than all the other districts combined. Each year you win, the richer you get, the better your training gets, the rest of us have too struggle to fulfill our quota's to the Capital."

Her lips curled in disgust as she mentioned the Capital.

"Yes, we're more successful, and richer, but yet we still have to compete, and many of us still die," I say.

She opens her mouth to speak, but pauses and cocks her head again. That was unexpected to her. Good.

"What would you know about it," she sneers. "You've never had to work a hard day in your life."

I close my eyes and begin to laugh softly. Lyra has put up a good effort, a very good effort. It helps that she's genuinely brave, and not afraid to speak out. It's probably why she's here.

"You think that's funny huh," she says. "Well maybe you wouldn't if you had too…"

"Relax Lyra," I say interrupting her. "I have nothing against you. Really. There are things neither one of us understands, but don't worry about it. We're just all playing our roles."

She sits perfectly still and blinks several times. I can tell her mind is racing, thinking through what I just said. Maybe she'll understand, but even if she does, what does it matter. This really is just a game to the Capital. It also makes me thing of what Porsche said. Is she right? Are our lives meaningless as we play their games?

Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted by shouting in the distance.

"Slade!"

It's Krillan, they're returning. Standing up, I see them returning. There wasn't cannon, so I'm guessing they didn't find anyone. No doubt his patience will begin to wane again. I'm wondering if the Game makers will step in and attempt to stir the pot for us. They haven't yet, but they're audience is going to get restless soon.

"Start cooking one of the chickens, I'm starving!" Krillan shouts.

"Chickens huh," Lyra says. "Must be nice."

I ignore her and walk out to meet them. They all looked tired and a little frustrated. Krillan looks anxious, Selena agitated, and Porsche worried.

"She say anything?" Krillan asks?

"No," I reply.

"How long are we planning to keep her around?" Selena asks.

"As long as we have too," I reply plainly.

"It's too long," Krillan says. "We didn't find any sign of them out there. We have to go out farther."

"They'll eventually be driven back to us," Porsche says.

"Ok, then we still don't have a reason to keep her alive?" Krillan asks.

"Because I want her to see us kill them," I say through clenched teeth and narrowed eyes.

Krillan sighs and swings his axe in his fingers.

"Alright, I get that, but we can't wait forever. Let's either kill her now and go find them, or just leave her here to starve."

"I agree," Selena adds. "It's getting to be too long."

"She could still be useful," Porsche says. "They're obviously still working together. Lyra must know where they are."

Selena rolls her eyes, and Krillan twirls his axe in his fingers again.

"Maybe she just needs to be properly motivated," Krillan says.

He flicks his wrist once more and his axe twirls in his hand. His tongue brushes his teeth as a wicked smile falls over his face. I swallow as my heart skips a beat. This guy is getting more and more unhinged, and he looks like a dog whose just tasted red meat.

Before I can even respond, he brushes past me. I turn and watched him, my eyes wide. I quickly relax them though, and replace it with a curious look. But as Krillan strides closer to Lyra, I know what he's thinking. Turning back to Porsche and Selena, Selena rolls her eyes and follows Krillan.

"Keep it simple Krillan," she says. "Don't kill her by accident."

I look to Porsche who shrugs. I turn and run after Krillan. He's about to reach Lyra, his axe in hand, twisting it within his fingers, licking his lips and staring at her with crazed eyes.

Lyra see's him coming, and sits up. She gives Krillan the save bold and defiant look she gave me. The look of a slave who bravely stands up to their master. Does she know what he's planning? If she does she's held onto her courage. It was bold of her to speak out against us, no one has ever done it before. I wish I'd seen it. I wish I could have heard her words, her voice. She must have spoken with urgency, clarity, and above all else, passion. Apart, everyone is weak, but together, you become strong. What did the other tributes feel? Courage? Hope? I don't know, but I wish I could feel as they did. I wish there was someone like Lyra willing stand up against the people I hate the most.

"One chance girl," Krillan says cutting her ropes and tossing her to the ground where she lands on all fours. "Tell us where they are, or you loose something. Finger? Toe? Arm? I'm not in a good mood today."

Lyra holds herself steady, though her shoulders are tense. I reach Krillan, look to him, see the crazed look in his eyes, and slowly turn to her.

"Tell us Lyra," I say. I speak with coldness, but my eyes are begging her. "Tell us where they are, and he doesn't touch you."

Her gaze shifts between Krillan and myself. It remains the same, and my heart sinks.

"GO TO HELL!" she shouts.

_WHACK_

Her screams echo in my ears, making them shudder. My head drops while my eyes snap shut as she clutches the hand which Krillan struck. He took two fingers, and they're laying on the ground in a bloody mess. Her screaming stops, forcefully, and I see her struggling to keep herself composed, unwilling to look at her bloody hand, or Krillan. I peer over my shoulder and see Porsche's face as pale as a ghost. Meanwhile, Selena watches me with narrow eyes.

"You gonna tell me now?" Krillan asks.

I whirl around, hoping she'll say something to stay his hand. But no. Lyra, quivering violently breathing hard, buries her bloody hand inside her armpit, rises to her knees, and glares at Krillan.

"Lyra, tell us," I say forcefully.

Her gaze shifts back to me, strong, silent, still unwavering. Lyra had been captured helping a girl in her alliance escape after Selena had struck her with a throwing star. The girl was down, wounded, yet Lyra had stopped to help, putting her own life in danger. Would I do that?

"This is pointless," Selena said. "Just kill her and lets be done with it."

Maybe she's right. I'll have to kill Lyra anyway, why not just kill her now. Krillian will just keep taking parts, one by one, the more she screams, the more he'll enjoy it. It would be merciful to kill her now. I can live with that, even if the Capital becomes angry with me.

"Last chance," Krillan says raising his axe. He points his axe to her shoulder.

My pulse begins to race. I hate this. She doesn't deserve it. She's just a pawn, like I am. I might be from District one, but we still have some belief in honor and dignity. That's what sets us apart from District two. I see the vile look in Krillan's eye, and I imagine slashing my sword across his jugular. The world would be better without people like Krillan, and I have to kill him soon anyway. Why not now?

Lyra remains still, holding her bloody hand tightly, not hiding her fear, but acting defiant despite it. Krillan smiles, bends his knees, and raises his axe.

"What the hell is that!" Porsche shouts suddenly pointing off into the distance.

We all stop and look out to where she's pointing. I cover my eyes as the sun is high over head, causing a glare against the prairie grass.

"What are you talking about?" Krillan asks.

I squint my eyes, and see it. A soft orange glow, with smoke billowing above.

"A fire," Selena says.

"A fire?" Krillan says.

I scan the horizon, and see two, no three, no four, more fires spring up at the threshold of the woods.

"Look," I say, pointing to each one.

"Huh," Krillan says. "There all around us."

I glace back to Lyra, whose lowered herself slightly, and staring aloofly at the fires.

"Looks like your friends have come back for you," I say.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh," Krillan grunts. He draws his other axe from his back. "Come on, lets go get them."

His eyes are wide and crazy, like a shark in a frenzy. Selena withdraws her throwing stars.

"One per fire," she says. "They're spread out, kill them before they regroup."

"I don't think they're planning to regroup," Porsche says.

I squint again, but my eyes widen in horror as the smoke pillars grow wider, and wider. Below, the soft orange glows begin to spread rapidly, joining each other and forming a giant ring of fire in the tall, brown, dry, prairie grass. Tall, brown, dry, prairie grass.

"They're putting the whole field on fire," I say urgently. "Quick, grab what you can, we gotta get out of here!"

Porsche dashes into the Cornucopia, grabbing several packs. Selena sheaths her throwing stars and grabs a few bags of food which she throws over her shoulder. Krillan glares at Lyra a moment longer, but the air is already filling with smoke and ash as the crackle and pop of the sounds of fire grow near.

"What about her?" he shouts.

"Leave her," Selena shouts. "She'll die anyway."

Krillan shouts in frustration but sheaths his axes and runs to the supplies. He grabs what's left of the weapons while I grab some blankets and canteens. Porsche emerges from the cornucopia as a wave of smoke blows over us. I cough furiously as the smoke fills and burns my lungs.

"Slade!" Porsche shouts.

I run towards the sound of her voice. Keeping my head low, the air becoming dark with smoke.

"Krillan, Selena!" I shout. I hear their footsteps running towards my voice. I reach Porsche and she's ducked below the boulder we sat at the other night. Krillan and Selena arrive a moment later.

"I can't see a break in the flames," she says.

The ring of fire is growing smaller, and each moment we linger makes the wall thicker.

"We're just gonna have to run through," I say pulling my jumpsuit over my mouth.

We hear more footsteps behind us, running rapidly. Turning, we see Lyra, running through the smoke in a direction near ours with her hand still tucked into her armpit. Krillan unsheathes an axe.

"Damn it, we need to kill her!" he shouts.

"NO!" Selena shouts grabbing his arm.

Krillan gives her a look which would make a child wet their pants. He struggles to free his arm, but she gripes it tightly.

"Krillan!" she says forcefully. "We need to stay with them."

Krillan's face becomes calm as Selena glares at him intensely. My heart begins to race as I look to Porsche. I nod slightly, and she does the same. Nothing else needs to be said.

They're turning on us.

We leap to our feet and dash from the boulder towards the fire.

"Just run through," I shout to her. "Don't stop."

She drops the supply packs and I drop the blankets. I hear Krillan shout behind us as they dash from the boulder. The smoke burns my lungs and the heat of the fire blasts my skin. I clench my teeth as my shirt sticks to my chest, pumping my arms and legs as fast as I can. Porsche strides ahead, and bursts through the fire. I follow a second later and wince as my skin starts to burn, my clothing catches on fire, and my hair begins to simmer.

It's over quickly as we burst through the other side into a plain now filled with soot and ash from burned prairie grass. We fall the ground and let our momentum carry us as we roll several times, extinguishing any flames on our jump suits. The next moment we're on our feet, and begin running once more, to the forest.

If we can make it there, we can loose them, hide, and figure out what to do next. It's earlier than we expected, but I think Selena is on to us. She saw the way reacted to Lyra's fingers being cut off, she knows something's amiss, and doesn't want to take a chance.

The forest in within our reach and Krillan and Selena emerge from the fire a moment later. The roll on the ground the same way we did, and chase after us. Something brushes past Porsche and tears her jump suit. It was one of Selena's throwing star. A second later, something whizzes past my ear and sticks to a tree stump ahead.

"Hurry," I shout.

We're within a few feet of the foliage when the tree braches above begin to stir. A moment later several people burst forth from the brush running at us full speed.

"FOR LYRA!" they shout.

I juke to my left as an arrow flies past me. A moment later the boy from seven swings a large broadsword at me. I duck just as the blade passes over my head. Leaping forward, I uppercut him in the jaw, knee him in the stomach and toss him aside. I try to draw my swords, but a knife strikes my leg.

I gasp and fall, clutching my right leg where the knife sticks from it. I tear it out quickly and place it my belt behind my back. My leg is throbbing and bleeding heavily, but I can manage for now. Porsche has her spear out and is sparing with someone with a trident. However, she's hit from behind with a mace and falls to her face. The one with the mace raises it high over his head, and I dash towards him.

My leg screams as I dive towards him, leading with my shoulder. I crash into him and he falls away. Porsche scrambles to her feet, reaching for her spear, but an arrow nearly takes her hand and she recoils quickly. I fall on the tribute who attacked Porsche and begin pounding his face furiously. He goes limp a moment later and I spring to my feet, blood dripping from my fist.

I see Porsche fighting the girl from six, who apparently knows the same ancient fighting style the male from six I fought does. She blocks several wild kicks, but I see another tribute pulling back and arrow aimed at her back.

"Porsche drop!" I shout while unsheathing my swords.

I hurl one at the tribute with the bow. Flying end over end, it sails over Porsche who dropped low doing the splits, and an arrow sails past a instant later. The sword makes a sickening sound as it strikes the tributes hand. He screams wildly as blood flows from his arm. Meanwhile, the arrow which sailed over Porsche lodges itself in the chest of the girl from six. She gasps and falls motionless to the ground a moment later followed by a cannon.

Porsche leaps to her feet and grabs her spear. I dash towards the tribute with the bow as he fumbles to knock another arrow. His bloody hands are slippery as my hand reaches around his throat and raise my blade. Yet I stop as I hear a rustle of footsteps behind me. Turning, I see three other tributes dashing towards me at once.

Weapons raised, shouting loudly, they all charge me, wild looks in their eyes. Porsche dashes towards them, spear raised, while I toss the tribute I'm holding in front of me. I stand ready, my eyes darting over each of them, waiting for the first attack. Then one lurches forward, his eyes wide, and falls on his face, an axe protruding from it.

Porsche throws her spear and hit's the one charging to my left. It pierces her stomach and she falls wailing. That leaves one, whose raised a two handed broadsword high over his head. He swings it down which I parry with my sword. Then I kick him in gut, my right leg screaming. He falls backwards and Krillan leaps on his chest slamming his axe through his neck.

I glance behind him and see Selena watching the fight behind us, her throwing stars armed and ready. Two other tributes attack Porsche, one with a trident, the other with two maces. One swings a mace, which she deflects with her spear. Unleashing a powerful high kick, she sends the one with the trident into a tree trunk where he gasps and collapses. The one I wounded with my sword crawls away from Krillan and retrieves his bow. He knocks an arrow, but quickly drops it as a throwing star strikes his shoulder.

He stands straight, shouting loudly, but stops as his eyes go wide and he points beyond Selena.

"LYRA!" he shouts.

Out beyond Selena, Lyra runs out of the ring of fire. Gasping for breaths, clothing and hair smoking, she spins wildly at the sound of her name.

"FOR LYRA!" they all shout.

Taken off guard, Krillan is kicked hard as they all scramble away from us and run towards her. Selena whirls around, throwing stars in hand.

"Should have killed her already!" she shouts.

Reaching her arm across her body, the throwing stars glinting off the flames, she takes aim at Lyra. I retrieve my other sword and race after them, Porsche already ahead of me. Krillan shouts at the top of his lungs and overcomes the tribute who kicked him. The small boy is already wounded from Krillan's axe, and struggling to keep up with the others. I see the panic in his face as Krillan takes him, delivering a final blow to his head.

Another cannon fires.

Ahead the girl from four raises her trident, aimed at Selena, who just about unleashes her throwing stars. I clench my teeth as Lyra stumbles aloofly around the ash and soot, her hand still bleeding. Just as Selena is about to release them, she shrieks and lurches forward as the trident strikes her from behind. The rest of them are on her a moment later.

Two run past Selena to Lyra, take her and lead her off into the woods. The remaining two take Selena. Fallen on all fours, Selena struggles to remove the trident protruding from her leg. A moment later the boy from eleven begins beating her severally with a mace. Striking her legs, Selena shrieks and wails at each blow. The girl from four reaches Selena and yanks the trident free. Raising it over her head in both her hands, she shouts loudly and aims for Selena's pelvis.

But she gasps as a spear lurches out of her chest. She gasps and falls onto Selena, the trident falling harmlessly to the side. I reach the boy from eleven and deflect his mace blow. He leaves Selena and swings his maces wildly at me. I deflect each one, though my balance is wavering due to my leg.

A cannon fires of in the distance as the girl from four passes and Porsche retrieves her spear. Krillan shouts loudly as he dashes towards the boy from eleven. Seeing he's alone, he drops his maces and dashes off into the woods. I stand firm, but place my hands on my knees, coughing furiously. I'd never catch him, not with my leg like this, and all the smoke in my lungs. None of us could run very far right now. Krillan shouts profanities, but places his hands on his knees too. Meanwhile, Porsche kneels next to Selena.

"Krillan, Slade," she says. We look to her, and Porsche's face tell us how bad the wounds are. Krillan walks carefully towards us as we circle Selena.

Selena's eyes are winced shut, her teeth clenched as she gasps and squirms.

"Stupid bitch," Selena says. "Told you we should have killed her."

I tear a sleeve off my jump suit and wrap it around my leg. The wound isn't bad, but it will take a while to heal fully. The bleeding will stop, and hopefully the sleeve will keep my leg sturdy enough so I don't injure it further. However, if its not treated soon it will become infected.

"She's wounded," Krillan says. "Several of them are. If we hurry, we can follow them, get them when they stop."

"Can you sit up Selena?" Porsche asks.

"Gahh, damn it," Selena says gasping for breaths. "My legs!"

I see blood flowing from the wounds in her leg. The trident left several punctures, and her left knee must be shattered. She tries standing, but collapses.

"Stupid knee," Selena says.

Krillan walks silently behind her, his axe twirling in his fingers. Porsches places her hands on Selena's knee and softly examines her leg. She gives me a wary look.

"What's that… look mean?" Selena gasps, her face turning flush.

"Your leg is broken in several places," Porsche says. "Plus the wounds from the trident need to be wrapped. We'll need to make you a crutch and splint if we're going anywhere."

"And we need to move soon," I say. "We need to find another shelter, more food, and figure out what to do next."

"We need to follow them," Krillan says angrily. "We got them on the run. We can end this now."

"First, the splint," Porsche says standing up. She walks around to one of the trees, looking at their branches. "Cut down a tree branch, thicker the better, we'll tie it up as best we can to her leg…."

"KRILLAN….!"

_WHACK _

A cannon fires.

We both whirl around and stare in horror as Selena's head spins on the ground her eyes and mouth open wide, her body laying lifelessly at Krillan's feet.

Neither of us can say anything. My stomach is swirling, and I feel several beads of sweat run down my cheek. He lifts his axe, and wipes the blood off it, then turns to us, smirking.

"She would only slow us down," he says. "Besides, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

I swallow and try to relax my shoulders. Porsche lifts her chin high, but clutches her spear tightly.

"Here's what we do now," Krillan says. "They're not too far ahead, so the three of us can catch them. Any problem with that?"

We shake our heads slowly.

"Good," he says. He turns to the direction the boy from eleven was heading, takes one step, and turns back to us.

"Oh, one thing," he says. "She wanted to turn on you two right there. I didn't think it was a good idea, so here's how its gonna go down. We take them out, then its every one for themselves. You got it?"

"Sure," I mutter.

"Good," he says. Then he points the axe towards Porsche ambiguously. "If I sense you're going to try to take me out earlier, I'll chop you both up so fine you'll be seasoning in Capital stew."

Krillan keeps both his axes in his hands, and jogs into the woods. Porsche and I exchange worried looks, grip our weapons, and follow.

We ran, and ran. Like a pack of hungry wolves, through the rest of the afternoon, and into Twilight. Krillan leading the whole way, only stopping to check for drops of blood, broken branches, or any other sign showing where they went. My leg throbs with each stride I take, but I don't show it, not even a wince. Porsche runs between Krillan and I, constantly checking over her shoulder to make sure I haven't fallen behind.

There's four left, including Lyra, and Krillan has a wild look in his eye. He thinks we can take them out all at once, and then its just the three of us. Together, I think Porsche and I could kill Krillan, but it wouldn't be easy. He won't hold back, and now we've seen just how vicious he can be. I remember what my father told me about the careers from District two; at seven years old the candidates are placed in a sealed room, and it only opens when one is left. It makes me shudder.

We run until Krillan holds his fist up and stops. We catch up and stand one to each side of him.

"You hear that?" he whispers.

I listen closely and hear the soft sound of water rushing over rock.

"A river?" Porsche asks.

"Yeah," says Krillan. "Come here."

He carefully creeps through the foliage, and pauses when we reach some tall grass. Lowering himself, he motions for us to follow. Joining him, we follow his outstretched arm. In the distance we see the river lead into a small lake, with a small island not far off its shore. On the island we can see the soft orange glow of a fire, and four shadows sitting around it.

"So this is where they've been hiding," I say.

"Smart," Porsche says.

"And way far out from our perimeter," Krillan adds. "But we got them now. Let's go."

"Wait," Porsche says.

Krillan turns and glares at her, I instinctively put a hand on my sword hilt.

"What?" he asks.

"We can just go after them," she says. "We'll have to wait till they come off the island."

"Why?"

"Because," I say calmly. "They'll hear or see us swimming a mile away. And if they catch us in the water, it'll be tough to escape."

Krillan takes a deep breath, and presses his lips together.

"Screw it, I'm going," he says.

"WHAT!" Porsche and I say together.

"I'm going in, you two meet me farther down shore," he says. "I'll get their attention, and lead them out, then you jump like they jumped us at the field."

Before we can protest, he slides into the water, and begins swimming towards the island. Porsche moves closer to me.

"Maybe we'll get lucky," she says. "He could get himself killed."

I hope she's right, but I don't think so. Krillan is very brash, ruthless, and aggressive, but he's not stupid, and he knows how to defend himself. He swims silently across the lake keeping his arms under the water so only his head shows. Moving at a slow and silent pace, they never notice him.

Meanwhile Porsche and I move down stream and watch the figures by the campfire closely. Lyra's red hair shines brightly against the flames. Her hand is wrapped, and she's keeping a two handed sword next to her. The other three figures I can't make out. I try to remember whose left, but its hard, and we didn't take the time to look to the sky when the Capital launched its nightly update.

"Here he goes," Porsche whispers.

Our breathing slows, almost stops, as Krillan reaches the shallows of the islands shore. He quietly pulls himself on shore, crawling on his stomach until her reaches the high rise. Staying low, he takes his axes in hand, and creeps towards the fire. They don't see it coming as Krillan leaps up behind one of the tributes sitting on a log, thrust his arm around his neck, and drives his axe into his gut. The others stare momentarily before they start shouting and grabbing weapons.

Krillan shouts several profanities before dropping the bleeding tribute and dashing towards the water. The males chase after him, shouting wildly while Lyra stays behind and cradles the wounded one in her arms.

Some time later a cannon went off.

Meanwhile, Krillan dove into the water swam towards us as fast as he could, splashing wildly as he did.

"Ready?" I ask Porsche. She withdraws her spear, twisting it over her head before snapping it to her side.

"Ready," she says.

"Take them out, then we take Krillan together," I say. "Don't give him a chance to think about it. Just go for it."

Porsche nods. Four left, the two males, Lyra, and Krillan. The two males keep following Krillan, one holding two short swords like me, the other has the bow slung over his shoulders, and two throwing knifes in his hand. I check the knife in my belt behind me, making sure its safe and secure. We'll take these two out now, then it shouldn't be hard to get Lyra on the island. Then we'll have to move to Krillan right away before he even knows what's happening. If we catch him by surprise, we may be able to kill him before he can even mount a defense. After that, it'll be just Porsche and myself.

That makes my heart skips a beat. _Just Porsche and me_.

"They reach the shore, we charge them," Porsche says. Krillan is shallow enough where he stands and breaks into a run, the others just behind him. I nod and raise my swords. "Ready?" she asks.

"Ready."

We burst from the foliage as they reach the shore. Passing Krillan, we run towards the two males who are frantically raising their weapons. Porsche bats away a knife which flies end over end towards her and I take on the male with the swords. Thrashing violently at him, he narrowly parries my blow and tries to strike with his other. I jump backwards and the blade swings by me harmlessly. I try a reverse slash to his neck, but he ducks out of the way at the last moment.

A moment later Krillan is next to me and throws an axe at the tributes head. He ducks, but gasps as my knee connects with his stomach. Behind us, I can hear Porsche sparring with the other tributes. He's keeping his distance from her, trying to use his throwing knifes. They circle each other, making a few fake faints and a quick lunge, but Porsche falls for none of it.

We hear shouting from the water, and I see Lyra swimming as fast as she can towards the battle. The boy Krillan and I are fighting here's her cry, and straightens himself. His eyes narrow and he bounces his knees a few times.

Krillan charges him again, swinging his remaining axe wildly. The male holds up both his blades and catches Krillan's axe above his head. His knees buckle and Krillan keeps pressing. Then I leap forward and thrust my blade into his stomach. He barely had time to realized he was defenseless. Collapsing to the ground, a large pool of blood forms beneath him. His face becomes white, his eyes glassy, and a cannon fires a moment later.

Two left, then Krillan.

"Porsche!" I shout turning my back to Krillan.

She's still dancing with the last male tribute. Lyra is near the shore, not realizing she's rushing to her own death. I can dash over quickly and kill Porsche's target the same I killed Krillan's. Then we can get Lyra and Krillan.

"Come on, lets go," I say over my shoulder.

But instead of seeing Krillan's face, I only see his axe blade.

I leap backwards just as the blade is about to strike my face. Had I not turned, it would have struck me in the neck. Surprised, I don't even have time to raise my swords before Krillan rushes me. Throwing both arms around my waist, he lifts me up, and drives me to the ground.

"Gasp,"

He keeps his legs around my waist and punches me several times in the face. The first blow I taste blood, the second I hear my nose crack. The third he raises his axe high over his head, it gives me an opening where I'm able to throw a fist into his face. His head tosses back, and I buckle my waist. Krillan falls backwards, but recovers quickly enough to slam his heel into the wound on my leg.

"AHHHHHH!" I shout as the would throbs and my leg goes numb.

He raises his axe again, as I struggle to get to my feet.

"I'm sorry it has to be like this," he says. "I really am. I do respect you, and I wish you could have killed her for your brother."

Krillan slams his shoulder into my stomach and we fall to the ground again, the wind knocked out of me. Slamming a boot on my right arm, he drives his knee into my chest while his right arm holds my left wrist to the ground..

"But you should have killed her when I told you too," he snarls.

I struggle against him, but between the pain in my leg and the wind being knocked out of me, it's in vain. I see him lift his axe and aim for my neck. I also hear a cannon fire in the distance, and a pair of feet racing towards us.

"GET OFF OF HIM!" Porsche shouts.

I see a flash of silver hit Krillan under his jaw and he's knocked back. I sit up, coughing violently, and Porsche is diving towards him her spear aimed at his chest. Krillan leaps to his feet, blood dripping from his mouth where a few of his teeth are missing.

"YOU STUPID WHORE!" he shouts.

Wincing, I try to stand, but hear a splashing behind me. A moment later, Lyra comes into view. She looks to Krillan and Porsche who are trading blows axe and spear, to the two dead males who were her allies, then to me. I stand up, though say hunched over, my swords in hand. In one ear I hear Porsche battling Krillan, and he's attacking her with a fury I've never seen.

"GO!," I growl as I run towards Porsche.

Lyra takes a few steps backwards, watching me run towards Porsche, and disappears into the woods.

I run as best I can, but my leg feels like dead weight. Porsche swings her spear at Krillan's knees, but he jumps over them and backhands her across the face. Steadying herself, she raises her spear and blocks his axe, and kicks him in the front of the knee. He screams wildly and stumbles backwards, she raises her spear, aiming for his neck. I'm almost there, a few more feet, I raise my sword, aiming for his neck as well. But Krillan dives forward as Porsche thrust her spear, it hits air, and I hear the most sickening sound it the world.

Flesh ripping as its run through.

"NO!" I shout wildly as I slam him with my shoulder.

End over end, we roll over each other. I manage to land on top and begin pounding him furiously. My swords and his axe are laying about, dropped and lost while we wrestled. Over and over my fists strike him with rage, until his hands reach for my neck and squeeze. I gasp and instinctively try to tear his hands off my neck. He slams his head into my gut and I sprawl backwards. A moment later I see him diving towards me, his fist raised.

I grab his shoulders and tumble backwards. He flips over me and is tossed on the ground. Leaping to my feet, I dash towards him, my hand reaching behind my back, grasping the hilt of the knife I placed there. Withdrawing it, I land on his waist, place my empty hand on his chest, and slam the knife into his throat.

His struggle immediately ceases as he gasps and gurgles. Blood flies from his mouth, splashing on my face. His mouth and eyes grow wide, his body begins quivering and twitching. With one final gasp, his body becomes still. I hold the knife firmly, watching closely as his eyes go dull, and I hear the cannon fire.

I fall over, gasping for breaths. My grip slowly loosens on the knife handle, and then I remember.

"Porsche!" I shout.

Leaping to my feet, my eyes darting all over the darken landscape. But I don't see her anywhere.

"Porsche!" I call again.

Then, scattered on the ground, I see several drops of blood which glisten in the light of the moon. They form a path leading towards the river. I follow it, running as fast as I can. I don't have to go far until I clear the trees and find myself on the rocky shore.

"Porsche!" I call out again.

All I hear is the current running over the rocks.

"PORSCHE!" I shout with my hands over my mouth.

Still nothing. I look up and down the shore line, searching for her.

"PORSCHE!" I shout again.

Then, with a weak voice, I hear her.

"Slade."

Whirling in the direction of her call, I see her leaning against a large rock, nearly hidden in the darkness. I dash towards her and fall at her side. I lift her in my arms, cradling her so her head can rest on my shoulder. Meanwhile, she stares silently towards the lake.

"Hang on Porsche," I whisper to her. "Stay with me."

I turn us to go back towards the shore.

"No," she says weakly.

Wrapping her arms around my neck, she burrows into my chest. I look at her closely, and my heart stops. A pool of blood has formed where she was sitting against the rock, flowing from a wound running from her navel to just below her breasts. A wound from Krillan's axe. The cut is deep. There's nothing I can do.

"Don't look at it," Porsche says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's ok," I say. "I can stop …."

"Don't," she says. "It's ok."

"No!" I say, a knot forming in my throat.

"Please," she gasps turning her face into my chest. "I only wanted….to hear the sound….of a river once more," she said weakly.

My eyes grow moist, and when my lips part, no sound comes out of my mouth. So I just hold her, and listen to the evening sounds. The crickets in the grass, the birds in the trees, the water of the river, and the breeze through the leaves. It's calm and quiet, despite the violence and chaos which just occurred. It makes me feel so small, so helpless, because there's nothing I can do to save the only person I care about anymore.

"Slade," she says.

"Porsche," I whisper.

"I'm not….afraid anymore."

I lean my forehead lightly against hers. She lifts her head, and looks at me with her big, deep, dark eyes. Swallowing, I still the trembling of my chin, and gently brush a stand of hair which has fallen across her eyes.

"I was… never afraid… with you," she says.

I swallow, and the knot loosens in my throat, and my eyes clear. My hand gently caresses her cheek of the oldest, and only friend I've ever had. She lifts her own hand and softly places it against mine.

I close my eyes, holding back the tears. I imagine opening them again to find us back in District one, racing through the woods, taunting, encouraging, and laughing at each other. To be back in our place with the boulder where we'd sit in the shade of the trees and listen to the river flowing beneath us. To wake up everyday and prepare for the long day of training with all its scrapes, bruises, and possibly scars, but also knowing I'll endure it with her. To have the life we always imagined, together, brought together by misfortune and torment, but stayed together with unbreakable bond we never fully understood, but cherished. I want so much back that I never realized would be gone one day. Taken by the Hunger Games

"Don't…waist it," she says in a whisper.

Her arms are loosening around my neck, her skin going cold, her chest slowing.

"I won't," I whisper back.

"Make sure…it means…something," she says.

"I will," I say softly in her ear.

I begin sway slowly, holding her tighter, the songs of the night serenading her, never taking my eyes away from hers.

"Promise?" she asks.

The knot returns, and as I part my lips, I can't bring myself to speak. As I struggle, my eyes grow moist again, and tear escapes my eye.

"I promise," I finally manage.

She closes her eyes, and her body relaxes in my arms. I cradle her tightly, and rock her gently. Her breathing becomes soft and shallow, and her arms go cold and limp. I close my eyes and bow my head, several more tears falling from my eyes, and into her dark hair. Time slips by, and I still hold her. The songs of the night playing ever so softly. I hold her despite the throbbing in my leg, and the soreness in my arms. I hold her until her breathing ceases, and the cannon fires in the distance.


	5. Chapter 5

CAREER PATH

A HUNGER GAMES STORY

PART 5: THE SPARK

A waist. That's all it is. Twenty two kids, dead, for what? That's the trick though isn't it. The dirty little secret President Snow and Game Keepers keep as they smile smugly throughout the celebration and festivities of each Hunger Games. It's so simple, clear as day, and I feel as though its been staring at me this whole time, laughing and mocking me with each kill.

_SHRINK_

The wet stone glides smoothly across the edge of my blade. I test it with my thumb, and find its good and sharp. Perfect. It's just me and Lyra now, the final two, and I'm guessing the President and Game Makers couldn't be happier. They wanted to re-interest the younger audiences, so they created me. I'm the villain. Angry, ferocious, violent, and overall just not very likable. Yet, was I born this way, or driven to it? The audience is suppose to wonder, take sides, disagree, and watch with interest to see how my story plays out. Will I get my revenge? Or will I get my due? Either way, no one will be able to turn away.

Good.

The sun reaches mid-day height, and I feel it warming the top of my head. The river runs calmly over the rocks, and the birds are still singing, just like they were last night. My eyes close and I fight the knot which forms in my throat again. It's hard to admit she's gone. Porsche. It hasn't even been a full day and I've already caught myself speaking as if she were still here, turning around and expecting to see her, planning our next move for the both of us. But then I find she's not, and it feels as though a part me is missing. Can I ever get used to this? Do I even want too? Either way, it's hard to accept the truth. I'm all alone now.

I know what that emptiness is. It was her place, in whatever part of you makes you feel happy, fulfilled, and secured. That was Porsche's place in my life, and no one could ever fill it, I won't even let them try.

_Make sure it means something_.

That was her last wish. She made me promise, and we never broke our promises to each other. I spent the rest of the night wondering how I. How could I make her death, along with everyone else's, mean anything at all? No one remembers the losers, only the winners. Their bodies are given back to their Districts to be buried, and they're mourned by family and close friends, but outside of that, nobody cares. Just the winners, and only because it reminds us only one can win.

It was early this morning I realized there's only one way.

I sheath my swords, stand up, and take in the landscape one last time. The river flows softly into a small lake which contains a small island. It's where Lyra and her alliance had kept their base. Here, on the shore, is where Porsche had died. Crawling here after Krillan mortally wounded her, wanting to hear the sounds of the river once more, just like our place in District One.

I wish they would bury her there, so she could rest in the cool shade overlooking the river and listen to songs of the birds for all time. I'd know where to find her then, and I'd know she'd be at peace.

Picking up her spear, I sling it behind my back. I don't use a spear, that was Porsche's weapon, yet I take it. Feeling its weight against my back comforts me. It almost fills that emptiness. Turning from the shore, I head into the woods, weapons sharp and ready, for it's time to find Lyra, and put an end the Forty Fourth Annual Hunger Games.

The air is humid from the afternoon sun deep in the woods. Sweat beads form on my forehead, and they occasionally drip onto my jumpsuit. The bandage around my leg is itching with each stride, yet there isn't anymore blood, and the pain is minimal. As I walk, my mind wanders to what must be happening in the rest of the world. With Lyra and I being the final two, I'm sure there have been in depth specials and segments into who we are. They want the world to know exactly who is fighting who, and what got them here. They'll craft elaborate stories around each of us, all designed to peak viewer interest, and get them talking. I smirk as I wonder what kind of story they've chosen to tell.

Are they going to interview my father? Who I said beat me constantly as a child during my interview. He's probably had a near heart attack with every decision I've made. All he talked about my whole life was what he thought I needed to do win. He was a student of the Hunger Games, and thought he knew how to win better than anyone else. They never told him about the characters Porsche and I were playing, so I'm sure he was yelling and shouting a lot, and feeling enraged that I apparently never listened to him. If they interview him, I'd actually want to watch it, it would be very amusing.

And what about Lyra? Who are they going to interview? The young thirteen year old girl she volunteered for? That would be very entertaining for most. No doubt the little girl is grateful for Lyra. She should be, Lyra has taken a lot for her. I'm sure with each punch, kick, bruise, cut, Lyra endured, the little girl became more thankful, and the Game makers more excited, . I can just see them wriggling in their chairs like young kids, eager to interview the girl after Krillan chopped off two of Lyra's fingers.

Lyra is certainly hero in that little girls eyes, and probably many more as well.

Either way, no doubt people will be glued to their viewing screens for our final encounter. That's what its all about, making people watch. Well I'll be giving them something to watch. A damn good show. We'll see if they can handle it.

I'm surprised how light my feet feel, and how relaxed my shoulders are. Pushing through the branches and foliage, I mull this over. It's not because I know Lyra is wounded, and won't be able to fight very well. It's not because I know I can beat her one on one and no one can jump in and save her. It's also not because I don't have to try and keep her alive any longer. Nope, none of those.

It's because I've made a choice, on my own, without any pushing me to or from it, and I'm happy with it.

Porsche would be too.

I keep walking, back towards the middle of the Arena. Lyra took off last night after seeing her allies were dead, and Porsche, Krillan, and myself were fighting each other. I wondered earlier how long I'd have to search to find her. Then I realized it wouldn't be long at all, Lyra's not the type to run away, she's just running to where she knows I'll look.

The sun is beginning its descent as I push through the last of the foliage and stride into the charred remains of the prairie grass Lyra's alliance burned yesterday. The cornucopia stands in the middle of the field, with Lyra sitting on a crate with her back to me.

That's just stupid, and she needs to do better than this, I don't plan on wasting my life.

Taking Porsche's spear from my back, I hold it steady in my right arm, lift it high, and slam it into the ground. The sound echoes across the plain and Lyra whirls around. Seeing me, she quickly leaps to her feet and stands ready. Our eyes meet, and we stare for several moments at each other. Then, I slowly begin walk towards her. Watching her closely with each step, I see her fiery red hair shines brightly against the fading sun, and her eyes still wear that same defiance she always wore.

"So," she says when I get closer. "It's you."

"Yep," I reply flatly. "Just like they wanted all along."

Her hands are empty, and there are no weapons in sight. They took a lot of them during their raid, and we grabbed the rest and tossed them in the woods while searching for them. The two handed sword she had must have been lost in the last battle. Yet still, she stands ready, prepared to fight with everything she has, completely unafraid.

"Psh, yeah," she says.

She swallows as I reach for my swords and un-sheath them. I examine each one, and look to her.

"You going to fight?" I ask.

"Of course," she says narrowing her eyes. "I've never stood aside for anyone before, I'm not going to start now, not with the likes of you."

I nod, keeping my face blank.

"Good," I say. "That's what I wanted to hear.

I toss her the sword which I sharpened earlier.

It lands at her feet, and she stares at it cautiously, her eyes shirting between it and me.

"We need to give them a good show," I say. "It's what they always wanted, the villain…," I say motioning to myself. "…and the hero," I add, pointing to her.

Her eyes squint and she cocks an eyebrow. I smile, and nod my head once more. Lifting my sword, I charge her. Lyra waste's no time and picks up my thrown blade and holds it in front of her. My blade connects with hers softly, and I push her back.

I circle her, and she holds it steady in her good hand. Then she charges me, swinging it wildly at my waist. I parry it effortlessly and juke to my left as she rolls past me. She's already given me two ways I could have killed her without any effort. Lyra recovers quickly and spins, just in time to deflect my blade aimed for her head. I continue to press down on the blade, not too hard, but hard enough to make her arms shake.

"Did you think you were the only one?" I ask in a hushed voice. "Did you think they'd ask you to be the hero, and not have a villain for you to fight?"

I jerk myself backwards, acting as if her strength had pushed me back. She stands straight, her chest heaving and her eyes wild in confusion.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says.

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

"You're not helping yourself out here," I reply. Lunging at her again, I take a side swipe at her, which she narrowly leaps out of the way off. Then, she tries to strike me as my momentum carries me away off balance, leaving an opening for my kidney, but I quickly spin and deflect her blow, kick her in the gut, and knock her back.

"You said you talked a lot," I say as she tries to regain her footing. "I don't think they like that. So I'm guessing they came to you a few nights before the reaping, and some how convinced you to volunteer."

"SHUT UP!" she wails and charges me again.

I strike her sword from below, sending her arms skyward, and trip her feet.

"Think about it Lyra," I say. "They asked me and Porsche to do the same."

She slows herself and looks at me carefully. I know her mind is whirling, probably thinking about all that's happened, just as I did all last night. A few moments pass, and I see her face soften. But we gotta keep this dance up.

I leap towards her and raise my sword. She rolls out of the way as my sword hit's the ground, she leaps forward and tries to stab me, but I back hand her in the face, hard. She falls, but quickly rolls back to her feet. We begin to circle each other once more.

"So they did huh," she says. "And why? What did you do?"

I shrug.

"Nothing," I reply. "I just had the good back-story. My brother."

Her eyes narrow and her jaw clenches.

"Well they have something of mine!" she shouts.

She charges once more and we lock blades. Her face turns red, and I smile, she's starting to get the dance.

"They have my family, and they threatened to kill them."

"Unless you play the hero?" I ask.

"Yes, and I learn my lesson."

I thrust her back and we begin circling again.

"You're certainly gotten a lot of people hurt haven't you," I say. "That's what they want you think huh."

She glares at me, real hatred growing in her eyes.

"So what happens if you win?" I ask. "What do you do then?"

I charge her and we parry several blows. I strike high, she parries and strikes low. She strikes to the side, and I block it.

"Nothing," she says with a strike that I block. "I go home, I shut up, and I'll never put anyone else in danger."

"That's not what I want to hear Lyra," I say. "Besides, do you really think they'd make it that easy?"

I kick her in the stomach and she falls on her back. I circle around her, spinning my sword in my hand, and deadly look on my face. She spits blood from her mouth and stands up.

"I don't care what you think," she growls.

"You should!" I shout. "I could have killed you over a dozen times by now, but I haven't, and there's a reason."

"I don't care you District one scum!" she shouts.

"Start caring!" I shout. "Think about all that's happened. Do you realize what you've done! Huh, do you?"

I charge her again and we start exchanging blows at a faster rate. I hold back my strength and my attacks. I let her unleash her fury on me, blocking and parrying each blow as I go, making it clear I'm toying with her.

"You've done something…." I say parrying a low strike. "…no one has ever…" deflect a high blow. "…done before."

She tries to stab me through the chest. I grab her wrist pull her around and push her to the ground. She gasps and winces, but quickly rises. I hold my sword tightly at my waist and glare at her.

"You united all the districts," I say. "No one's ever done that. No one's every tried. Hell, no one probably thought it was possible."

She stands slowly, and watches me carefully.

"Think about it Lyra," I continue. "They fought for you, they rescued you, they, DIED, for, you!"

"You think I don't know that!" she shouts.

She charges me again, and swings my sword with blind ferocity. I defensively being to back away as she attacks me over and over. I parry and block each strike, listening to her as she fights.

"They're all dead because they tried to protect me!" she shouts. "I didn't want that! I only wanted us to fight together to kill you! I didn't want them rescuing me, or making me their leader. I only thought if we stood together we'd have a better chance of beating the odds. Beating you, giving us all a better chance."

I deflect a strike and make one of my own. I strike her from above, and she deflects it. I press down hard again, making sure our eyes meet.

"Exactly," I say quietly. "But you got something more. You inspired them to join together to fight a common enemy. Imagine what you could do if you united us against our real enemy."

We push off each other, and she stares at me broodingly. I twirl my blade in my hands, staring right at her. Her face is flush, and she's gasping for air. Lyra's doing all she can to kill me and survive. I can see her hands quivering, and her chest heaving. She's scared. However, that's what so impressive about her; she doesn't give into it. Lyra fights her hardest, despite being as scared as she is.

"Do you ever wonder why we play the Hunger Games?" I ask.

"That's easy enough to understand," she says. "To remind us each year how much power they have over us."

"Sure," I say shrugging. "That's one reason. But there's another, and I don't think anyone sees it until they've played the game. At least I didn't."

Lyra holds herself still. Good. She's listening, perhaps this isn't a total waste. I raise my blade and charge her again. She blocks my strike, and we begin our parry dance again.

"It's not only to show the power and control they have over us," I say. "But to keep us divided."

She parries a blow and jumps backwards. Taking several deep breaths, and wiping the sweat from her face, I see her eyes blink several times as she understanding over takes her.

"Ever since the uprisings, and the beginning of the Hunger Games, they've sought to keep us divided," I say. "Divide us by planting seeds of hatred, distrust, and fear in all of us. Discouraging any kind of fellowship between us. The reason is simple, if we're too busy fighting each other, we'll never come together, and fight our real enemy."

She charges me, but her attacks are half hazarded. We exchange a few parries, and I can tell she wants to hear more.

"We fight each other, kill each other," I continue. "It causes us to distrust each other, hate each other, and kill each other even more. It divides us. The Districts, who are all oppressed by our real enemy."

"Our real enemy?" she asks.

"The Capital," I hiss.

We break away. Her eyes are wide, in intense fear now. Speaking against the Capital gets you killed. Not possibly, or maybe, it does. I've just crossed that line, and she didn't want any part of it. Yet, in her eyes, I can tell, she believes the same. Lyra shakes her head.

"It's not possible," she says.

"Yes it is," I reply. "You just have to make them realize the truth."

I charge and begin attacking her now. Above, side, below, she deflects them.

"They don't even…" she says parrying a high attack. "…let us talk…" parries a side attack. "…to each other."

" No," I say holding our blades crossed. "But the winners see each other every year.'

Her eyes widen and she jumps to my left. Her eyes and eyebrows narrow. After a moment she shakes her head.

"It's still not possible," she says. "We'd need so many…"

"You united almost everyone against us with one interview," I say interrupting her. "They saw your intensity, your conviction. You gave them hope, something to focus their anger and fears on, something to fight for. That's the kind of power President Snow _wishes _he had."

She charges and starts attacking me now. Our dance continues.

"Why don't _you _do it then," she says. "You seem to have it all figured out."

"Because," I say deflecting a strike to my heart. "They chose you to be the hero, and they chose well."

We break again, and start to circle.

"All of Panem has seen you," I say. "They've seen what they saw," I motion behind me indicating all the tributes who have died these games. "A girl from the under privileged District eight, unites all the tributes against the privileged career pack. They fight, they die, all against their enemy, but they died together. It's the kind of tale which inspires everyone. I couldn't dream of doing that."

I charge her again, and the dance continues.

"I see the picturing you're trying to paint," Lyra says feigning a jab to my stomach. "But whose to say there are even others who think like you and me?"

I smile.

"Strike a match in the dark, and everyone flocks to the spark," I say. "They will come to you. You are more than just Lyra from District eight now. You are an idea, a symbol, the spark. You will be the only light in the darkness which they will gather too. And one day, when enough have gathered, your spark will catch fire. Yes, it will take time, but you're not really going to have anything better to do."

Lyra clenches her teeth, but slows her attacks some. I see it in her face. She's thinking about it, seriously thinking about it. I'm sure she has her doubts, I would too. However, no revolution began on its own. There's always a beginning, and that beginning is inspired by ideas and courage.

Lets see how brave she really is.

She slashes her sword towards my neck. Ducking to my left, I grab her wrist, twist it, and snap it around her back and I hold her in front of me. Kicking her in the back of the knees, she falls to her knees, and I place the blade of my sword at her neck. She holds herself perfectly still, slowing her breathing, staring straight forward. I lean closely to her ear, and whisper.

"What did they die for?" I whisper. "Was it so you could go home and keep quiet for the rest of your life? No. They gave their lives to you. You owe them."

This is how I make it mean something. If we're going to die young and fighting, it should be for a reason. If Lyra really is the hero, everyone who lost their life in these games, will have died for a reason. Even Selena, and Krillan. I'm the flint which the knife is striking against. Hopefully I'll create a spark big enough to burn it all down.

I feel her swallow.

"What does it matter," she says. "I can't beat you. You've proven that. You're going to win."

"No," I whisper. "I'm not."

I pull the blade away from her neck and kick her away. She rolls forward, grasps her sword, and stand up slowly. Her eyes are wide.

"You only need one more thing before you can start," I say. "You need my life, which I'm going to give you."

Once again she narrows her eyes and cocks her head. Our eyes lock, and we stare at each other once more. Several moment of silence pass, each one confirming to her that I mean what I say. When her head straightens, and her eyes soften, I raise my blade, and utter…"

"Don't waste it."

I charge her as fast as I can, screaming at the top of my lungs. Her mouth drops and her eyes fly open. Instinctively she raises her blade deflect my incoming blow. And just as I reach her, I clench my teeth, close my eyes, and drop my sword.

_SHRIP_

_I_ gasp as cold steel runs through my body. It hurts, but not as bad as I would have thought.

"Oh my," a shaking voice utters.

I slowly open my eyes, my head already feeling lighter, and look down. My sword, the one I sharpened and tossed to Lyra, is protruding from my stomach, almost to the hilt. Blood flows from the wound, down the blade, over her hand, and onto the ground.

My legs begin to feel week, and my fingers start to tingle. I fall to my knees where Lyra quickly catches me and lays me softly on the ground. Her red hair flows in front of her face as she looks over the wound, panic in her eyes. I blink several times as my vision starts to go fuzzy. My breathing grows slower, and I realize it worked.

Lyra places a hand over the wound and pushes hard. I place my hand around her wrist. My grip is soft, as I don't have the strength to pull her away.

"Stop," I whisper softly.

"No," she says. "You can't die, not like this. I can't do what you asked, I can't owe you..."

"Yes….you can," I reply.

I lift my head, struggling to keep steady, and I look into her eyes. This is the other part of her that will inspire people. Here I am, dying, and yet she's trying to save me. I singled her out in my interview, vowing to kill her. After capturing her, I hit her several times, even knocking her out. A member of my alliance chopped off two of her fingers. Yet she tries to save me.

When they raided the cornucopia, she tried to help and injured ally, and was captured because of it. When Krillan attacked them, she stayed behind and tried to help her wounded ally before he died. She put herself at risk, volunteering for the Hunger Games, to save her family, and the little thirteen year old girl. The Capital choose their Hero well. Hopefully too well.

"I would have… joined you too," I say.

My death will mean she wins. Her win, means our deaths mean something. Lyra will find others who want to over throw the Capital. Starting with previous and future winners of the Hunger Games, who will learn, as I have, why we play the games. The Capital won't be able to keep us divided once we realize the truth. They fear us joining together.

But with Lyra, one day they will unite, and fight back. I'd love to see that day. But that wasn't part of my plan. My part was to create the spark, along with everyone else who died in these games. If Lyra pulls through, we will have created something which will change the world. We will have meant something.

I rest my head on the ground again. She squeezes my hand as a tear falls from her eye, and lands on my cheek.

"Thank you," she whispers.

I shake my head.

"Don't thank me," I say, struggling to speak as darkness begins to creep into my vision. "Just swear."

"Swear what?" she asks.

I turn to her again, our eyes connecting.

"Don't…waste…our…lives," I say with the final breath I take.

I no longer have the strength to breath, and I can't feel my legs, arms, or torso. All I can feel is the wound in my gut, and her hair as it dangles on my face. She closes her eyes and her chin begins too tremble. A moment later she opens them, and that brave and defiant look fills her face once more. Leaning close to my ear, she whispers…

"I won't. I swear it."

With that, I let the darkness overtake me. Soon I don't notice the brightness of the sun, or the discomfort of the terrain. The last thing to fade is the pain from the wound. And as the announcer's voice fills my ears congratulating Lyra on winning the Forty Fourth annual Hunger Games, a wave of peace washes over me, followed by darkness, and I don't feel any more pain.

THE END


End file.
